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HER PLAYTHINGS, 


A NOVEL. 


MABEL ESMONDE CAHILL. 


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NEW YORK: 

Russell Bros., Printers, 17-23 Rose Street. 
1891. 




HER PLAYTHINGS, 
MEN. 


A NOVEL. 



NEW YORK: 

Russell Bros., Printers, 17-23 Rose Street. 
189 0 , 


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Copyrighted, 1890, by Loms Magan Cahibl, 


TO THE AMERICANS 


' ho have so warmly welcomed me among them I 
■«{icate the efforts of my pen: — these they may not 
ospise, believing as they do that it is the workers, 
’iven the tiny ones — and not the players — who help 
to build, piece by piece, a great and solid nation. 


M. E. Cahill. 


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... \*s. 







CHAPTER L 

IN LINCOLN OREEN. 

Let me carry your thoughts, Reader, to a woodland 
scene in the heart of England, where, but a few years 
ago the royal oaks stretched far above, and the mossy 
green sward was soft to the horse^s hoofs which trampled 
it; where the mottled lizard and the glittering adder 
glided in and out of the tangled underbrush of rhodo- 
dendron and sweet briar; where the lovely coltsfoot and 
the waving pines mingled their perfumes in early Spring, 
whilst above, in the wind-swung branches the gentle 
wood pigeon cooed her soft love tale to her mate. There 
on a dewy morning in the Spring of 188 — , four days 
prior to the great race meeting of Darcliffe, we might 
have seen galloping over the springy turf two proud 
crested animals, the one bestridden by a young man of 
some twenty-two summers, the other, riderless, but bear- 
ing upon his glossy shoulder the trappings for a lady^s 
use. This and much more yet could we have seen as 
onward dashed that bold, reckless young rider, looking 
not back to yesterday^s peaceful hours, looking not for- 
ward to the dark possibilities of to-morrow. 

Onward he dashed with the lady’s charger by his 
side, until the park lands of Darcliffe had been left far 
to the rear, until fields of stubble had been galloped 
over and their neat hedgerows crossed, until at last 
arrived at the grand, old ivied wall marking the bound- 


4 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


ary between the equally important estates, attached re- 
spectively to Darclitfe Castle and Oumberwold Abbey, 
when the panting steeds were suffered to draw breath. 

A long, low rambling wall this was, with its ivy crested 
buttresses, its massive earthworks, meant to withstand 
the ravages of centuries ; full of weird memories for the 
little unkempt rogues of long gone generations, who had 
so often climbed its ledges to find where the wood-birds 
loved to build their nests in early Spring j full of vague 
terrors for the timid little girls who ofttimes wove the 
daisies and kingcups into fantastic chains beneath its 
cooling shade. 

And now, as the young horseman reined in amid a 
cluster of poplars fringing the boundary wall, a low, 
clear whistle broke upon the still air and an arrow shot 
up against the blue sky. A pretty little arrow this, shot 
from a lady’s archery bow, feather tipped and fleet to do 
its mistress’ bidding, as, bearing on its sharp point a 
note, it landed at the young man’s feet. A note, the 
opening of which caused the young man’s cheek to 
blanch and his hand to tremble, w^hilst having read it 
and re-read it apparently to his satisfaction, he pro- 
ceeded — with the delightful idiocy of his twenty-two 
summers — to crush it manj" times against his lips. 

Blind mortal, who cannot pierce the impenetrable 
stretches of futurity, could you but understand that in 
the note you hold there is contained a message pregnant 
for you with subtlest poison, such as in the unknown 
to-morrow wdll blight your manhood’s sweetest hours, 
leaving you naught but ashes and dead sea fruit behind, 
your cheek would blanch, but from a different motive to 
that which prompted it but a moment ago to grow more 


m LINCOLN GREEN. 


5 


j deadly wliite than the drifting clonds above you. But 
the young man thought not of to-morrow^ as he sprang 
towards a buttress of the old ivied wall and waited, — yea 
waited for what possibilities that to-morrow held for 
him. 

j ^fot long had he waited ere there sprang into view from 
I above the figure of a young girl in the first blush of lovely 
womanhood, with form and face fresh and voluptuous as 
the bursting rose-bud culled from its parent stem but a 
I moment back. Especially lovely this young wood-nymph 
looked in her riding habit of darkest green, which by its 
perfect make betrayed the rounded curves of a generous 
figure, whilst, with a rippling laugh as full of soft music 
as the tinkling of goat-bells amongst the Alpine gorges, 
she sprang from her vantage ground into the readily 
extended arms of the young man. A i^assionately linger- 
ing kiss, and a little cry, a few tender greetings, eyes 
looking into answering eyes, and then these young people 
turned to where the horses stood trampling the mossy 
sward in a corner of the fragrant pine-woods. 

It took them but a very short time to get settled once 
more in their saddles, and in a moment more they were 
riding onward together, to ruin and to heart break, such 
as seldom engulfs years so tender as theirs. 


6 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN 


CHAPTER II. 

A life’s wreck. 

A trial race. The grooms and jockeys, scattered here 
and there in groups of twos and threes, admire Lady 
Adelaide Heathmore, the dashing young heiress of 
Cumberwold Abbey, as she canters leisurely towards the 
course. 

“ She’s goin’ to ride the race on Blackwater. I’m 

d if she’s not a rare plucked un I ” 

See her go ! My eye ! What a jock she’d make ! 
Steady as a rock over the hurdle ! ” 

“ She’ll do ; and if she was to ride in the big race I’d 
back her ! ” 

Such were the enthusiastic comments uttered within 
earshot of our lovely wayward heiress 5 comments that, 
for all her wealth and high -breeding, brought a keener 
tinge of pleasure to her cheek than did in after life the 
subtlest flatteries of the many princes of Europe who 
kneeled before her beauty. 

But though this Diana seemed an object for their un- 
limited adoration, still amongst the jockeys “the favor- 
ite” was “the favorite,” and he was carrying Rutland 
Borradale quietly down towards the starting point. 

“ So I am going to ride a genuine race ! ” said Lady 
Adelaide enthusiastically to her companion. “ I wish I 
were a jockey, but, Rutland dear, what is the betting 
to be ” 

The young man bent low in his saddle until his lips 



/ 


A LIFE'S WRECK. 


7 


almost brushed her loose flyinij hair, and whispered 
some words that made her blood rush to her velvety 
cheek. 

Be it so,’^ she says with a ripple of laughter and a 
toss of the proudly turned head. 

So that is why you are mounted on the favorite, is 
it? Well you shall not win if I can prevent it.” 

Rutland had not been fearful of trusting the great, 
racer of his uncle’s stable to his fair companion, whose 
hands on horseback were sympathetic, and whose riding 
was very perfect and finished, but he had had his own 
views with regard to winning this race, and they were 
very dear to him, so he smiled at the toss of the proud 
girlish head, but said no more. 

One, two, three, and they urge their horses to a racing 
speed along the resounding turf, Blackwater leading, 
Blackbriar, the favorite, second, as they clear the first 
and third hurdles. Blackwater, although esteemed the 
better horse by most outsiders, was known amongst the 
trainers and stable men around Darcliffe to have done 
as fine things in the way of trial races as his stable com- 
panion, and he was ahorse, which, when handled gently, 
as he was being to-day by Lady Adelaide’s finger-tips, 
he was pretty sure to strain wind and limb to their utmost 
at her urging. 

Over the fourth hurdle they sailed, neck and neck, 
whilst the enthusiasm of the on-lookers became clamor- 
ous. 

She’ll have it, the young lady ! There’s none like 
her to ride a thoroughbred.” 

Nonsense,” came from another 5 the favorite is only 
holding back while she does the running.” 


8 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


You^re mightily mistaken, young man ; that riding 
doesn’t mean anything but dead earnest. But doesn’t 
she ride, though j and he is pressing her hard.” 

Yes, she has it ! l^o, they’re over the last together. 
She pulls ahead ! She has it ! She has it ! She has it ! 

No, d me if it isn’t the favorite by a neck ! Well, 

well, I must back the favorite and win some money.” 

. Wild cheers rang out now for the favorite. He was 
going to win money for them all, for every one of 
them had backed him for the great race. 

Never beaten — he’s a clipper, and has every penny I 
own on him.” 

The speaker was a burly farmer, who had since he was 
a small boy considered it part of his religious creed to. 
back and uphold the horses produced by his own shire, 
and Blackbriar he knew to be one of the finest he had 
ever had the pleasure of risking his money on. 

Hedge a bit is what I am going to do,” said a cooler- 
headed Southerner. Every man in England has his 
pound, shilling or j^enny on Blackbriar, so the odds are 
too short to make anything, and I wouldn’t trust him 
anyhow too much.” 

“ Ye know precious little, then, an’ ye don’t know our 
Harclilfe horse.” 

Whereat, with a groan for the skeptical speaker, the 
crowd dispersed to rush to where their idol was pawing 
the turf and fretfully champing his bit, as though medi- 
tating another scamper over the field of his triumph. 

One and all secure whatever prices remain at that 
late hour in the betting market, and all feel happy about 
their investments. 

Lady Adelaide and Eutland in the meantime have 


A LIFE'S WRECK. 


9 


drawn up side by side, with the velvety glow of health 
on their cheeks and lips, but in the young man’s spark- 
ling fresh dark eye is an especial flash of triumph, as 
with ineffable tenderness and love breathing in his whole 
demeanor, he bends his looks on his adorable compan- 
ion. 

i Do you understand, darling, the race is mine he 
whispers. ^^The race is mine, you are mine, the world 
I is mine.” 

f Does it make you very happy F she retorts saucily, 

; and then recoils a little timidly, as would the frightened 
i fawn in tbe gyves of its captor. 

Adelaide,” he murmured, his eyes full of passionate 
adoration, I love you.” 

“ And I you,” was breathed softly in return. 

A deep draught of love they drink from each other’s 
eyes j then they slowly come back to realities, and turn 
their horses’ heads towards Darclifie. 

As they left the race course with its crowds of trainers 
and jockeys considerably to the rear, and emerged once 
more under the flne old oaks of Darcliffe, the sun was 
rising to its zenith, the rooks had spread their wings in 
search of some distant pasture lands where the worms 
and succulent roots were i)articularly tasty, and all in 
the woods was silent in the noon-tide. 

“ You said your uncle was away, did you not, Eutland? 
But he might be back by an early train.” 

Yes, darling, he might, but that is improbable.” 

Still he will be very angry if he hears of this, so we 
had better hurry homeward.” 

“ His anger will mean nothing to me, darling, when by 


10 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN 


incurring it I shall have procured the slightest pleasure 
for iny Adelaide.’^ 

Again in one clinging kiss of youth, and love, and 
ideasure their lips met under the wind-S’vung branches 
of the oaks, and then they dashed forward, anxious to 
Xdace their horses safe in their own stalls at Darcliffe. 

For a few happy moments they cantered side by side 
avoiding now a projecting bough, now a blasted tree- 
stum x> overgrown with moss and dewy xirimroses, until, 
in the very heart of that quiet wood the slumbering 
wood-pigeons were startled into timid life by a lady’s 
wild cry, mingling with a deep angry bellow, loud and 
terrible to them in their peaceful groves as is the angry 
roar of the lion in his native forests. A crashing of 
underwood and a galloping of heavy feet was heard, 
distinct from the flying footfalls of the horses, and the 
lady was conscious of having for a moment beheld dash 
ing full upon her flank, a lordly steer that had broken 
from some shambles not far off, with the gash of the 
slaughter-axe gaping wide in his massive neck, whilst 
the blood gushed in torrents from the huge rift, madden- 
ing the brute with pain and terror. 

However, fear lent the swiftness of the wind to Lady 
Adelaide’s horse’s hoofs, as with a startled snort, Black- 
water sped onward, gaining steadily before his pursuer, 
though the latter was goaded by fury to an alarming 
sx)eed. 

“ Darling, you were always a brave girl, but now you 
must show your courage more than ever. I do not think, 
however, there is real danger.” 

Side by side they galloped, the gentleman reining in 
slightly, and directing his movements according to the 


A LIFE'S WR^CK. 


11 


lady’s speed, whilst behind them, and not so very far, 
the savage brute came thundering along with ponderous 
hoof-stroke and an occasional fierce bellow yrhich froze 
the blood of the riders. 

Each moment, however, he was losing ground, and 
when next the lady turned in her saddle she knew that 
danger was past. 

“ By Jove, the bridge over the torrent is broken ! ” 
cried the young man in startling tones, “ and it is an 
ugly spot ; we must let our horses look well at it and 
take time.” 

Yawning now at their feet was a ravine whose sides 
were steep as a precipice, and studded at the bottom 
with huge rocks, over which a torrent was rushing. 

They knew their horses, however, to be steeplechasers, 
daring and active enough to clear a wider or an uglier 
leap than this, and the riders were not alarmed. But 
some time was necessarily lost in creeping down the dizzy 
incline, whilst other valuable moments were past in find- 
ing a part of the torrent practicable for a leap. Parts 
were too dangerously wide, parts so bristled with slip- 
pery or jagged rocks that no horse’s hoof could rest upon 
them to take off. At one spot at the near brink of the 
torrent lay a newly-fallen oak tree, a young tree of 
about sixty years’ growth, which had been dealt foully 
with ; the contraband axe had done part of the work, and 
a late storm the rest. 

At the spot where the trunk of this tree lay the tor- 
rent was at its narrowest, and a tiny i)atch of sward 
stretched beneath the horses’ hoofs. This was the 
most feasible spot for a leap, but it would still be a 


12 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


hazardous one, owing to the obstruction offered by the 
fallen tree. 

You do not fear it, I am sure? ^ said the gentleman 
encouragingly, and a proud little toss of the head was 
her only answer. 

^^Then here is the take off, and follow me. Your 
horse must rise high to the tree, and take a good stretch. 

Stay, darling ! ^ he cried suddenly ; that bough 
will drag you from your saddle.” 

Dismounting quickly, he swung his full weight from 
the projecting bough so as to draw it slightly aside. 

Now ! Pass ! ” cried he. 

In a moment the lady was over tree and stream, as 
lightly borne as though it were a swallow that had 
skimmed the water. 

In the meantime the brute pursuing then came thun- 
dering along, and a bellow close at hand told the young 
man he had no time to lose. 

In consternation he sprang to his saddle, his horse, 
snorting with terror, scarce rose to the tree- trunk ; he 
struck it heavily with his knees, and not being able to 
save himself, he struggled wildly in mid-air, and then 
plunged forward on his head into the water, where for a 
moment he lay stunned. 

Quick as thought the young man had disengaged him- 
self, and snatched from his breast pocket a revolver 
which he presented at the head of the oncoming steer. 

Crack ! Crack! rang out upon the air, and one bullet 
lodged in the steePs head, but it was too late. Ere the 
fallen horse could rise from the water again, the mad- 
dened brute had hurled himself with such savage im- 
petuosity down the rough sides of the ravine, that at the 


A LIFE'S WRECK. 


13 


bottom, in the rough torrent intersecting it, he fell power- 
less in the throes of death, but not before his cruel horns 
had torn into shreds the quivering heart of Blackbriar, 
the gallant racer who was to have carried the thousands 
of the rich, the hundreds of the poor safely past the post, 
only four days thence. 

A cry of pain escaped the blanched lips of the lady, 
as she she sprang from her saddle to the ground. 

It will ruin the Earl of Darcliffe ! What will he say ? 
He has so much money on the race. Oh, poor, noble 
Blackbriar ! How sorry I am for you 1 Eutlaud, dearest, 
can I not do something for you ? Something for him 'P 
she asked plaintively. 

Nothing dearest, noth— — 

Ere he could finish there came from the crest of the 
hill above them a startling cry of horror, a cry with the 
ring, almost of wild despair, and in an instant the tall, 
soldierly form of the Earl of Darcliffe, with blanched 
cheek and flaming eye, and a loaded revolver in his hand, 
came springing down the slope. 

Hatred and contempt breathed from his lips and brow 
as he advanced threateningly towards his nephew. 

Coward ! he hissed, with suppressed passion, pre- 
senting the revolver at his nephew^s temple, you deserve 
it more than that poor dumb brute yonder. Go, cow- 
ard ! get thee hence quickly, and never dare to darken 
my threshold again ! Go,^’ he cried again, with intense 

and rising fury, Go, or I will shoot you down like any 
dog in my pathway.’^ 

Then, whilst his ashen lips quivered with pain, he 
turned and sent two bullets through the brain of the 
noblest animal he had ever called his own j aqd it was a 


14 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


mercy, indeed, for in the pangs of expiring agony the 
limbs of the gallant brute were yet trembling. 

u Forgive me, uncle was all that Rutland Borradale 
could murmur, as with a sob that choked him, and pas- 
sionate despair in his starry boyish eyes, he turned to 
leave that scene of horror. 

But now a detaining hand was laid on his arm, and a 
pale face was raised to his. 

Rutland,^^ she cried, you have a friend till death in 
me, tell me if I may not help you ’‘P 

You cannot, dearest,” he breathed hoarsely. Be- 
lieve me, it is best that we should say goodbye forever 
here. All must now be over between us, as you see, I 
shall now be nothing but a beg — beggar.” It was with 
dij0&culty he framed the word which meant for him a life- 
long struggle and pain. 

Rutland ! not good bye !” and the plaintive dark 
yes anon wells of love and light were raised to his in 
mute entreaty, till his whole frame quivered, and his 
resolution faltered, but it was only for a brief moment. 

One lingering look he cast towards that scene of hor- 
ror where the idolized racer of his uncle’s stables and of 
all their country round had, with his last faithful gasp 
stretched his gallant limbs, stark and cold, at his pitying 
master’s feet, when naught of sorrow or despair could 
avail to rouse him, — and the young man dashed his hand 
to his brow. 

“Adelaide ! Adelaide ! look yonder ! It is, indeed good 
bye forever, and I hope, for your sake, I may never see 
you again.” 

“ Rutland, you do not love me,” she cried, with bitter 
jjassion, but seeing that the young man turned from her, 


A LIFE'S WRECK. 


15 


she spraDg towards him with a great fear in her hear 

‘^•Let me save you from one plunge in the depths of 
misery,’^ she cried ^ as, unbuttoning his coat, she drew 
from its little resting place, the deadly toy, with glitter- 
ing muzzle, which, with steady hand, she pointed at her 
own white brow. 

Remember,’^ she cried, with bloodless lips, “ that I 
keep it always, and no sooner do you attempt to end 
your life than this will also stop the heart beats of your 
once loved Adelaide P 

Ere the revolver had been lowered, ere the blood had 
crept timidly back to her lips and cheeks, her lover had 
sped away, leaving her to face alone whatever the future 
held of good or evil for her. 

But in Rutland Borradale’s ear, as he went, came the 
low murmur of her voice : 

I shall wait for you ! You will return and find me 
waiting.’^ 


16 


HER FLA YTHINGS, MEN. 


CHAPTER III. 

A QUEEN OF BEAUTY. 

In the March of 18—, four years later than the events 
we have just described, there were invitations issued for 
a ball at Ho. 67 Boulevarde dTgliamento, in the centre 
of the most fashionable quarter of Brussels, and all the 
Tvealth and beauty of the kingdom were expected to 
grace it en masse. 

High hopes and aspirations were based upon the com- 
ing fete 5 it was to be one of the most brilliant events of 
the season, the military were to be represented by the 
handsome 2d Lancers and the dashing Guides,^^ to the 
thrilling strains of whose band the guests would dance ; 
and numerous and interesting were the conjectures 
amongst the daughters of beauty as to which of them 
should on that occasion bear off the coveted palm for 
unrivalled loveliness. Alas ! many were to be the holo- 
causts sacrificed on the altar of Venus for that event, 
and in consequence, many were the victims to trades- 
men's bills who passed an uncomfortable cycle before 
and after the 18th. 

All the illustrious houses of the capital had their 
guests, and amongst the most honored were those of the 
great Banking Baron,” who at present was doing the 
honors of his princely mansion to the Marchioness of 
Ripdale, one of the most renowned beauties of Europe, 
and to whom all conceded the title of loveliest of her 
sex” wherever she appeared. Little doubt had she or 


A QUEEN OF BEAUTY. 


17 


indeed any one else, that her triumph at this ball would 
be unexceptional, and that so long as she was i^resent, 
no other beauty could be looked at. So accustomed was 
she to come, and see and conquer ! ” 

We understand,’^ said the beautiful Marchioness, one 
morning over her matinal ortolan to her host, the Baron 
de Bothsleind, ‘^though indeed, merely from tho vaguest 
rumor that there is at the Castle of Montelarde, a rather 
good looking girl, totally unknown in society, not pre- 
sented at Court either in England or Belgium, who, in a 
word, is an American, and who, owing to her wealth, might 
be quite a feature of our little entertainment, Baron, so 
we might stretch a point and have her. But I fear 
sadly,” she added, ^Mt will be a case of too many 
millions, a very little of good looks, and nothing about 
her that could be termed ^ chic.’ However, we must 
complain of nothing, she can stand alone, as her wealth 
lends her ample attraction.” 

And while her host is dispatching the invitations to 
the Castle of Montelarde, the spoiled beauty turns to 
the satisfactory contemplation of her own unrivalled 
charms in the handsome pier glasses which abound around 
her. 

The night of the 18th, and evening ! Ten o’clock had 
struck in the old halls of Montelarde, and the party 
from the castle had not yet started, although the drive 
into town was more than sixteen miles. 

^^The horses will do it in no time,” calmly' asserted 
Monsieur de Montespaire. They have had nothing to 
do for a w^eek.” 

He might as well have been philosophical over the 
matter. Who can describe the thrill of excitement and 


18 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


delight, the hustle, the rushing to and fro, the endless 
adjusting of trifles ; in a word, the infinite pleasure that 
reigns in the ladies’ boudoir the hour before the ball. 

Who, on the contrary, can paint, too, dismally the en- 
nui of the gentlemen’s apartments during the same hour j 
the standing in draughts, the gloomy endeavors to find 
cigars, the heavy penalty of arranging a cravat, the hu- 
miliation of looking for a pin, followed by the odious 
perplexity of not knowing what must be done with that 
pin. 

Yes, for the gentlemen, undoubtedly this is the su- 
premely miserable hour of their lives, whilst for the 
ladies it holds complete bliss. 

Madame de Montespaire was still hurrying to and 
fro in her gorgeous attire of black velvet and silk, 
trimmed elegantly with a thousand pounds’ worth of 
Brussels lace. Diamonds adorned her comely neck, and 
a tiara of handsome emeralds and diamonds sparkled 
in her hair, whilst in her bosom blazed the superb bloom 
of a single scarlet cactus. 

And the while in her elegant boudoir sat Elra Brook- 
ley, with curl-caressed brow leaning on her jeweled 
hand, entirely oblivious of passing events, wholly indif- 
ferent to the coming hour and its requirements. 

I have been loved— yes, I have been adored by one 
handsome as a young god ! Loved !” she murmured, as 
with dreamy eyes she looked out over the lake, where 
in the darkling shadows the queenly swans glided in 
and out among the waxen water lilies and tangled reeds. 
“ Yes, loved ! Have I not felt it in the tremble of his 
hand, as his dark eye met mine j felt it in the passion- 
ate quiver of his whole frame as his lips have brushed 


A QUEEN OF BEAUTY. 


19 


mine. Yea, have I not read it writ in his eyes— those 
glorious eyes which, looking solemnly, wonderingly into 
the chaos of the future, I have seen sublime with the 
dark, thrilling passion which might have lived in 
David’s as he approached with rapturous intent to slay 
Goliath — those eyes which, speaking back to me, were 
alt of tenderness and worship, as beneath their heavy 
shade of lashes they sparkled and glinted and kindled 
as the deep waters under the starlight, until they were 
very dangerous for lovely woman to get lost in their 
seductive depths. 

Yes, dangerous for others, but not for me, for we are 
beloved of one another — we have plighted faith to one 
another forever and ever !” 

But here she brushed her curls from her brow and 
sighed. 

Could he but be here to-night ! Could he but assure 
me that his love is as ardent yet as it was in those happy 
days ! But he is not rich, and they will not have asked 
him. Poor Eutland !” she cried, flinging impatiently 
from her the diamond crescents that her maid had sup- 
posed would sparkle superbly that night in her dark 
wealth of hair. 

What avail to look handsome to-night He will 
not be present, and I shall be alone to enjoy my little 
triumx)hs, or to howl over m}^ big miseries, as the case 
may be. Come !” she cried, as a tap at the door re- 
minded her that however much she might fondly imag- 
ine she would be quite alone that evening, her brisk 
little maid intended quickly to disturb all such visions 
by taking absolute possession of her person in order to 
put the finishing touches to her ball-room toilet. 


20 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


Fortunately the maid was not as indifferent on the 
subject as was her mistress, with the result that, after 
clusters of sapphires and handsome diamonds had been 
fastened here and there with the entire independence of 
a daughter of America, and when her exquisite gown of 
palest blue, trimmed with the softest blue-fox fur, which 
looked chic and decidedly handsome against the ivory 
whiteness of her neck, had been adjusted to satisfaction, 
Elra Brookley was indeed a vision fit to make many a 
female breast throb with indignant envy and astonish- 
ment. 

It was a brilliant assemblage ‘that burst upon their 
view as the party from Montelarde entered the crowded 
ball-room. A waltz had just terminated, and the prom- 
enade towards the supper room had begun. In a word, 
everybody seemed intent upon his or her own particular 
business or pleasure 5 but one magic whispered word 
brought again a rush and a crush, and a polite scramble 
to the centre of the hall, where Elra Brookley and her 
queenly chaperone were advancing up the polished floor 
to greet their hostess. Eyes were strained, heads were 
turned, glasses lowered, and through the groups on all 
sides there crept a thrill, a shiver, almost an expressed 
groan of entirely satisfied wonderment. 

The heiress I” was breathed from lip to lip. 

Can it be possible There must be a mistake.’^ 

One would be inclined not to credit her wealth with 
such good looks.” 

However, the Banking Baron is a good voucher for 
that.” 

Such were the remarks that were rife on all sides as 
Elra swept up the hail, with the calm dignity of good 


A QUEEN OF BEAUTY. 


21 


breeding, unconscious of, or perhaps more truly indifier- 
ent to the effect she was i)roducing, when suddenly, 
standing out from the rest of the crowd, she caught 
sight of a face that brought a tinge of deeper color to 
her cheek ; a face remarkable for nothing so much as a 
pair of marvellously soft gray eyes, which answered hers 
with all the enthusiastic adoration of a schoolboy. Yes ! 
Elra’s eyes could not refrain from telling their pleasure 
at seeing a friend of olden times in Murray Cresenworth, 
for, down in Montelarde, hemmed in amongst the tower- 
ing mountains and purple peaks, she had perhaps of late 
felt a little lonely and just a little lost. 

He will be sure,^^ thought she, to have news from 
Eutland. I am so glad he has come.’^ 

It was thus, as the startled light of surprise and 
pleasure shone in her glorious eyes, that De Monteford, 
a supercilious old roue, well known in most of the 
fashionable clubs of Brussels, Paris, and even London, 
with all the impertinence of his class, levelled his glasses 
at the advancing form of the heiress, and professed his 
marked admiration with all the savor of a connoisseur. 

By Jove,’^ cried he, in an insolent drawl, she wears 
her wealth as another woman would her diamonds, 
merely to crown her beauty. But,” added he, with a 
marked curl of his close-shaven lip, the auctioneering 
is low at present. She may be knocked down to an 
earl.” 

And forthwith he dismissed from his mind all thoughts 
on so trivial a subject. 

The next dance on the programme was a set of lancers, 
and in this Elra took a part with some person of note 
whose name she did not even care to enquire. She 


22 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN 


knew he was an English lord,” a fact which made him 
intolerable in her estimation. ISTow, Elra Brookley^s 
ideas on this subject were somewhat eccentric, and 
showed an amount of old-fashioned independence, quite 
incomprehensible, and sad to behold in so well bred a 
young person. 

She had once met a young Englishman of the genus 
^‘lord,” who in the superb pride of aristocracy had re- 
lated to her how the ^^pork-dealers’ daughters” were 
having it all their own way amongst the English swells; 
and forthwith she had settled it definitely in her mind 
that she should loathe England’s wooden swelldom. 

I almost fancy,” she said to herself, that I could 
hate even Rutland if he were one of those titled eye-glass 
wearing Englishmen. And yet, if any one has an air of 
breeding and of class about him, it is Rutland. I sup- 
pose with my amount of money I shall be looked down 
upon for choosing a plain Mr. Anybody, no matter how 
distinguished that Mr. Anybody may be ; but, after all, 
other people’s pity canuot make me unhappy with Rut- 
land.” 

lu the meantime whilst Elra, with intensely bored ex- 
pression — the lord ” admired her all the more for it, it 
was a sign of breeding he thought — was pacing through 
the dance, Murray Cresenworth had been doing his best 
to get close to Elra, and at the conclusion of the lancers 
did actually contrive to carry her olf — most willingly on 
her part — for the following waltz, despite the looks of 
hostility and entreaty respectively, succeeding each other 
ou the i)eer’s facec 

Murray’s arm was on her waist, her hand clasped his, 
whilst the music rose and fell in passionate or languishing 


A QUEEN OF BEAUTY. 


23 


cadence, and away they floated, threading their way 
amidst clouds of tulle and laces, as free from jostle by 
Murray ^s superior guidance as though they sailed alone 
ui)on an open sea, with thoughts for nothing save the 
voluptuous swell of the music and the enthralling pleas- 
ure of the hour. 

Such a pair of graceful dancers could not fail to be the 
cynosure of many admiring glances, and of some very 
envious ones. 

Amongst others who watched these dancers in partic- 
ular were a very portly dowager, and her two rather 
well favored daughters, who were temporarily enjoying 
a rest. 

Why Marie, my daughter, what has become of your 
jeun Americain ! I was beginning to imagine, and not 
without reason, that he was very much epris. Am I to 
understand that you and he have quarrelled ? ” 

Now, on the day preceding this important event, it 
must be told that Pauline, Odile and Marie, three sisters, 
and Madame de la Koche, their mother, had assembled 
to debate about the coming ball 5 they had arranged 
about dresses, about partners, about business. Each one 
had been alloted a certain line to pursue 5 Pauline deter- 
mines to attack a very rich widower, Odile is apportioned 
some younger prey, and, last of all, Marie is lectured. 

^^You, Marie,” said the wise Pauline, must secure 
Monsieur Cresenvort, he is immeusly rich, and seems to 
care for you. He is, besides, young, ardent and very 
impressionable. You ought to be able to do it.” 

‘A fear not,” said Marie, diffidently ; he rather ad- 
mires Mademoiselle Berthe.” 


24 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


^‘Poob, she is as cold and as dull as stone, and as hid- 
eous as an Egyptian mummy. She will not stand in your 
way with so brilliant and witty a person as Monsieur 
Oresenvort, be assured, Marie I ” 

like Monsieur Oresenvort very much,’’ responded 
Marie, still unconvinced, “ but I fear he is too gay and 
too charming for me.” 

“You are pretty,” retorted her sister impatiently, “ do 
as we advise you, or you will be very ungrateful.” 

And this then was the reason why in Marie’s bright 
eyes lingered the air of the conqueror, as she sat by her 
mother watching the latest arrival, which happened to be 
Madame de Montelarde and her beautiful charge ; she, 
Marie, had been dancing since she entered the rooms 
with that ravissant Monsieur Oresenvort. 

“ Three dances in succession,” cried her sister Odile 
enthusiastically, “ and see how wickedly those girls yon- 
der are looking at you. You are a darling wicked little 
coquette, Marie.” 

“ Mamma,” said Marie deprecatingly, “I trust it will 
not look too marked but as Monsieur Oresenvort has 
asked me for the thirteenth dance, which is one of the 
evening’s prettiest waltzes, I suppose I may stretch a 
point and dance it with him ? ” 

“Then,” came the quick rejoinder, “be sure you se- 
cure the fourteenth and endeavor to sit out the fifteenth 
with him.” 

“ Perhaps,” said Marie, with a quick gasp of horror at 
sight of their proposed victim skimming past on the 
polished floor with his arm on the w^aist of an unutter- 
ably lovely girl, wholly unknown to her or her sisters. 

Yes, away glided those two happy dancers, dreamers 


A QUEEN OF BEAUTY. 


25 


they were then, up and down and around they went as 
though they could never tire; till at last among the 
fern-decked archways and the dim lights, they disap- 
peared altogether; and, I would not like to say posi- 
tively, hut I am inclined to fear, that the thirteenth 
waltz and its engagements were totally forgotten by 
some one, who as the outraged Marie presumed, with 
much indignation, ought to have known better. 

How decidedly frowsy our dancers are beginning to 
look, Baron ; remarked the Marchioness of Ripdale to 
her host, as they sat at the reserved supper table at the 
end of the great dining hall, whereon nothing but silver 
and the richest cut glasses sparkled under their wealth 
of vine-leaf and fruit, quaking jelly, cheese cake, and 
marron-glacd ; and where in quick succession, pate de 
foie gras, chicken salads, cold duck, ortolans or wood 
cock, chased each other at the behest of the apparently 
unappreciative gourmands. 

But there is a complexion yonder of pure alabaster ; 
how refreshing it is in its positively dazzling whiteness, 
after all those horrors of the ball room. My brain may 
have been softened by your excellent wines, Baron, but 
it appears to me impossible to explain, why people will 
dance if it mars their beauty,” 

^^Oh, easily explained, dear Marchioness, they have 
none to lose. There are but five perfectly beautiful 
women in the whole of Europe, and of these only one 
has deigned to grace my rooms with her presence to-night. 
She however will ever be more esteemed than all the 
others. 

Baron, you are a Parisian, and you wrong your 
guests, especially she of the Grecian brow and marble- 


26 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN 


white skin; and, positively, if I am to enjoy another 
morsel of your excellent supper, I must have that re- 
freshingly i^erfect face opposite me. But who is the 
goddess with the handsome shadowy eyes and keen 
eagle brows ? The type is so decidedly new that I won- 
der where she can have brought her good looks from ? ” 
From the other side of the Atlantic, I presume.^^ 

Ah, the handsome heiress ! she exclaimed languidly 
as she toyed with her marron-glac6 ; it will amuse me to 
make the acquaintance of a Texan or a ^fevada gold- 
mine girl, they are said to be original.’^ 

Beauty is almost always attracted towards beauty, 
and the English marchioness and the American heiress, 
after a pleasant conversation over their dainty suppers, 
were prepared to offer to each other as sincere and 
pretty a little hand of friendship as could be exchanged 
between two ladies reared under such widely different 
circumstances. 

Had Elra Brookley been an Englishwoman she would 
have enquired the maiden name of the young marchion- 
ess whose beauty was inspiring the fashionable world 
with wonder ; she would have i)laced herself in posses- 
sion of the antecedents, the past history, and, in a word, 
all that was known about the young peeress both before 
and after her marriage. 

But not being English, Elra Brookley lay languidly 
back amongst the soft cushions of the carriage as they 
drove homeward in theiJIPld gray light of morning, and 
gave no more than peAaps a x^assing thought to those 
haunting eyes, to those lips molded for x)assion, to that 
brow of snow ; but the recollectior of them came to her 


A QUEEN' OF BEAUTY. 


27 


mind coupled always with an indefinable dread rather 
than with any real pleasure. 

Thank heaven,’^ she murmured, he has been spared 
having ever had her beauty near him to tempt him to 
madness and passion.” 

And yet as she thought thus, she trembled, for simul- 
taneously came to her the recollection of a strange event 
which had happened that evening. 

During supper, Elra had noticed that the Marchioness 
of Eipdale wore a very handsome bracelet, to which was 
suspended a very small locket. This locket, unperceived 
by its owner, had become detached from the bracelet, 
and slipped among the cut glass ornaments of the 
table. As Elra picked it up and handed it back to the 
Marchioness, her face grew, for a moment, deadly pale 5 
for in that pretty, jewel-trimmed locket she saw a face 
startlingly like that of the man she loved to distraction, 
though more boyish, with his curly locks and starry 
eyes, than her Eutland 5 but looking again, she found 
the face in the locket distinctly different from Eutland’s, 
and she breathed more freely. And yet she could not 
put the thought of that face in the locket from her mind. 

What if it should be his face after all, hanging there 
at that beautiful peeress’ wrist, perhaps jdaced there by 
himself! But no, it was not his face ! It was entirely 
different, and if it had been, how could it have come 
there f ’ 

And thus, torn by unhappy doubts and terrors, she fell 
into a troubled slumber whilst the carriage moved on- 
ward through the fresh morning air. 

At the same time the Marchioness in the seclusion of 


28 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


her silk-draped boudoir, sighed as she looked at that 
boyish face in her little locket. 

I wonder,” thought she, was he angry or rejoiced 
when he at length sought home expecting to find me 

waiting, and found me ah ! ” she looked down at her 

wedding ring and shuddered. I never loved but him, 
and him I have myself thrown aside ! Well,” she con- 
tinued, with a little frosty laugh, be it so 1 I must 
now only fill the blank in my life by making all men my 
playthings ! ” 

^‘What is that, dearT’ said her husband, rejoining 
her at this moment. You seem happy for so early an 
hour in the day.” 

I was thinking, dear,” rejoined his loving spouse, 
“ how well you danced that hornpipe I It is incredible 
for a man of your size and age.” 

With this parting shot, which she knew would prove 
spicy to the middle-aged, rotund marquis, she threw her- 
self amid the satin cushions of the lounge and exhibited 
a reprehensible determination not to vouchsafe another 
word to her lord and master. 


IN THE PERFUMED PINE WOODS, 


2d 


CHAPTER lY. 

IN THE PERFUMED PINE WOODS. 

Many weeks had passed since Elra had been so uni- 
versally accorded the palm for matchless beauty at the 
ball given by the Baron de Rothsleiud in Brussels, and 
since then she had lingered on in the lovely old castle of 
Montelarde as the pampered guest of Madame de Monte- 
spaire and her husband. 

We had grown so old, dear, before you came, and 
now you are here we live once more and are young again ; 
so, cherie, do not ask to fly from us,” was reiterated so 
often by her handsome hostess who found in Elra’s visit 
an excuse for gaieties long unheard of at the castle that 
Elra was not loathe to prolong her stay. 

“ So good of you to tolerate a humdrum existence like 
ours, at this dull old castle, but we must see what we 
can do to enliven you,” her host would venture sometimes ; 
but this really meant that he would as usual plunge into 
his daily paper, leaving to his wife the cares of thinking 
out the subject in question and of following it up, if she 
cared to, which arrangement met with the said wife’s 
thorough approval. 

Thus many was the brilliant fete where Elra wielded 
the sceptre of the courted Queen of Beauty, repeating 
her triumphs o’er and o’er, and without number were her 
worshippers who lingered always around her, ready to 
anticipate her most trivial wish. Amongst these was 


30 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


Murray Oresenworth, who had gained the much coveted 
privilege of calling every now anil again to attend Elra 
in her rambles On horseback or on foot. 

Elra being in the position of a young woman whose af- 
fections were engaged elsewhere was rather inclined to 
ridicule his devotion and yet, like any daughter of Eve, 
when all was said and done, she had, be it understood, a 
kind of sneaking affection for this young American whose 
enthusiastic admiration was preposterous and absurd, but 
who, nevertheless, had brought her good news from him 
on the night of the Baron de Rothsleind’s ball. 

That news whispered in her ear had made her to tread 
on air for many a day after, and, strange to say, it was 
oftentimes that the young man had to repeat those whis- 
pered words in their long rambles together, when they 
so often watched the sunbeams as they shot aslant on 
the waters at their feet, or the purple clouds of sunset 
clustering about the falling disc of gold, or, again, the 
gaunt shadows of the mountains falling dark and gloomy 
across the valley. 

Once, indeed, he had surprised her amongst the fern, 
where couched the timid deer, with a letter in her hand 
and with so soft, so tender a smile on her lip, and in her 
brimming eye, that he had timidly asked the reason. 

Oh, Mr. Oresenworth, such news I ” cried she gaily. 

Rutland is coming. Read for yourself,” and she 
handed him the letter which ran briefly as follows : 

My Beloved One: 

I am starting to see you at last, and I tremble with joy 
when I think of our approaching meeting. Remember, 
darling, your sweet promise. I shall call you little wife 
three days after I rejoin you, and be true to the man who 
adores you. 


IN THE PERFUMED PINE WOODS. 


31 


It was signed with his initials, E. B. 

How selfish love and prosperity is apt to make the 
best of us. Elra, tender of thought and word to a de- 
gree at other times, now glanced at her companion, eager- 
ly and selfishly expecting naught but gladness and sym- 
pathy in his glance, but she certainly was not prepared 
for the change that had transformed his ordinarily cheery 
face in hue from its healthy red to the cold, ashen gray 
of a snow-charged sky. 

His secret stood revealed, and for the first time she 
felt in her heart a twinge of pity for her victim. 

Forgive me,” she breathed, softly, with a note of pain 
in her voice. I did not know — I never believed — 
What she did or did not believe, never transpired, for 
at that moment occurred something which strongly 
diverted their thoughts from the point in question. 

Ere Murray could command himself sufficiently to 
utter some sarcastic word expressive of how very indif- 
ferent he felt as to anything that might occur to his 
lovely companion in the matter of her marrying Rutland 
Borradale or any other man, Elra’s dainty parasol, 
whether premeditated on her part or by accident, got 
carried away by the wind, and ended up in the water at 
their feet, where they were compelled to watch it getting 
sucked and crushed to atoms amongst the rocks. 

How awkward of me to have allowed it to go,” said 
Murray, with deep contrition, quite forgetting the sar- 
casm he had been planning, and instead he looked for 
forgiveness in her radiant happy eyes. 

^‘It is not to be regretted at all,” she cried gaily. 
^Ht will merely be an excuse to go to town for a new 
one.” 


32 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN, 


All very well such stoicism on Elra’s part, but now 
occurred the difficulty of how the heiress could possibly 
walk the length of three fields, much less all the way 
back to the castle, without a sunshade. 

^‘It is not to be thought of,^^ cried Murray, deter- 
minedly, and it was forthwith settled that the gentleman 
should hurry homeward and from thence bring the car- 
riage to meet her, with a relay of sunshades whose num- 
ber would allow for any more accidents. With a little 
wave of her handkerchief, Elra watched her cavalier 
disappearing amongst the trees, and then, with the wild 
buoyancy of spirits known only to youth and pleasure 
and love, she danced along the pathway towards the 
lake, humming to a sweet air, well known at that time : 

“ She took three paces through the room, 

She saw the water-lily bloom, 

She saw the helmet aud the plume, 

She looked down to Camelot 

Out flew the web, and floated widej 
The mirror cracked from side to side ; 

‘ The curse is come upon me,’ cried 
The lady of Shalott.** 

— Tennyson. 

Poor thing,” mused Elra, to have her life’s happi- 
ness wrecked by one glance. I wonder,” she continued, 
if it could ever possibly be that at one glance of mine 
the world and the sea and the sky will change in a mo- 
ment and become everything that is horrible and bitter 
and miserable. Impossible I Impossible ! ” she cried. 
But she shuddered, nevertheless, as she thought of it. 

It was a lovely view which burst upon her sight, as 
she cleared the pine and oak woods fringing the water’s 
brink at this particular point. Beyond lay a beautifully 


IN THE PERFUMED PINE WOODS. 


33 


wooded valley in tlie heart ox* the Ardenne country, 
hemmed in- by the towering crags and lofty peaks of 
Brumenwmfel, bordered by the majestic forests ; a sunlit 
valley where nestled the little watering town of Vielsalm, 
guarded on all sides by its protecting centaurs. 

At Elra^s feet, on the placid bosom of the lake, the 
golden water-lilies were peeping above the wave, their 
juicy fresh green leaves spanning the glassy surface of 
the mere ; water spiders skated here and there, revelling 
in the glowing sunbeams j beauties melted into beauties, 
and all in nature breathed of harmony and gladness. 
She watched the shepherds on the distant hills collect 
their flocks ; she saw the huntsmen emerge from out 
the gloom of the forest trees, with their powder horns 
and game flung across their shoulders 5 and lower down, 
amongst the Avillows near the river that fed the little 
lake, and scarce at a stone’s cast from her side, she saw 
— what was it that made her start so ? — she saw a form, 
perfect in its manly symmetry and beauty, and the next 
moment she had sprung to her feet from the tangle of 
reeds and kingcups, amongst which she crouched, with 
a little half-strangled cry of delight, for she saw Rutland 
Borradale advancing down the pathway to greet her. 

Yet, no ! He has not seen me yet,” she murmured. 

He is on his way to the castle, and must needs pass 
this way ; so I shall wait and see his startled look with 
— shall it be surprise ? Shall it be pleasure F she asked 
of herself jealously, as half hidden by the clustering pine 
trees she waited for — she knew not what; Avaited for 
that which she would rather she had never knoAvn. 

Yes ! Her face blanched and became set as marble, 
as she perceived that Rutland Borradale — her Rutland — 


34 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN 


was not alone in his quiet ramble 5 that his deep, tender 
tones were answered by a woman^s voice. 

And yet, after all, they were but groundless fears that 
assailed her, for although she had not yet s^een the lady 
who accompanied Eutland, one glance at his curling lip 
and cold contemptuous eye sufficed to reassure her. 

‘‘ Where have I heard that voice before she cried, 
in startled tones, as, advancing down the pathway, 
their voices became more and more distinct, until she 
could catch the very words they spoke. 

Things have fared well with your ladyship since that 
day,” was heard, in the sarcastic tones of the young 
man. 

^^Yes; fortune has in a way smiled on me,” she 
answered, sadly ; “ but you, the friend and companion 
of my girlhood, have condemned me to a lov^eless life.” 

In your estimation, perhaps, to condemn you to 
poverty might have proved a worse sin. Yes, you may 
be thankful your lot is cast as it is.” 

Eutland, you know I am not thankful.” 

You are not thankful for anything, then.” 

You are heartless !” 

The unknown, advancing around a corner in the wind- 
ing pathway, now suddenly emerged into view. 

There in the sunshine, standing amongst the quaking 
reeds and shimmering aspens, she confronted the man 
who walked by her side, with a look brimming with re- 
proach and — and love. It was the deep fire of a fathom- 
less love that spoke from her magnificent eyes as she 
stood where the blue-eyed forget-me-nots in the marsh 
lands and the kingcups and golden iris made a carpet of 
flowers for her dainty feet. 


IN THE PERFUMED PINE WOODS. 


35 


' And this lady, who and what was she ? One with the 
lithe, willowy grace of a princess born to rule, one en- 
dowed with all the exquisite tenderness and sweet sym- 
pathy of womanhood — a woman with a neck like a swan 
and sweet, deep, pensive eyes, velvety and dark, and 
mysterious as the waters which gurgled and ebbed on 
the lake’s flowery margin. Soft and white were the 
water-lilies she had plucked and fastened at her throat, 
but more like the driven snow was her classic brow, more 
lovely than all nature’s other charms was the naturally 
rich blush that lingered in her dimpling cheek. 

Who and what was she ? 

She was, in a word, Adelaide, Marchioness of Eipdale. 

She whom of all women Elra had most wished could 
never be thrown in Eutland’s path to tempt him with her 
glorious beauty 5 and here she was deep in the heart of 
the lonely woods at Ohampisnay with him as her only 
attendant, and, whether by design or otherwise, this 
meeting had been effected Elra did not dare to ask her- 
self. 

Eutland,” said the woman, standing in his pathway, 

do you remember the lakes at the Abbey and our happy 
life amongst the heathery haunts of the coot and water- 
fowl, where we used to catch the little fish and trap the 
frogs and water rats f ’ Then, seeing he turned his head 
away, she added : 

Can you forget ?” 

The last words were spoken so slowly, so softly, with 
such a passionate ring of regret that even Elra, listen- 
ing, thought, with a twinge of pain, that they sounded 
sweet as the wanton zephyrs playing among the harp- 
strings of old. 


36 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


Yes ! alas ! to see Adelaide was to love her, and slowly 
Rutland’s hand went out to her’s in reconciliation, their 
eyes met and lingered— and something there was in that 
prolonged glance that made the unhappy watcher recoil 
as though struck by an invisible hand. 

O God !” came in broken accents from her stone cold 
lips, I have been strangely mistaken ! His words, his 
looks were false. He loved me not. He never, never 
loved me. How could I have imagined it so f ’ 

“ Yes,” continued Adelaide, as brother and sister 
were we then and we were happy dreamers ; but now 
you have grown to love the light of other eyes and they 
have grown for you lovely as the starry midnight. 
Whilst I ” 

Adelaide ! ” he cried, imperiously, but now she turned 
from him. 

With the quick daring of a blinded, long-suppressed 
passion he drew the queenly head to his breast and 
looked long and searchingly in her eyes. 

Adelaide,” he cried, his tall, manly form quivering 
from head to foot, in every fibre, in every muscle. “ I 
know of no loveliness to equal the unholy depths of 
darkness, the unfathomable myster^^ of your eyes.” 

^‘What can their unfathomable mysteries mean for 
you f’ she breathed, with a ring of almost defiance in her 
tones. 

The fire in your eyes, Adelaide, has made the star- 
light of my boyhood ! The passion-flame living in them 
now must be the beacon to wreck or save my manhood ! 
Which will ” 

But the strain upon that listener amongst the trees 
was too much 5 in that moment, seeing what she saw, 


IN THE PERFUMED PINE WOODS. 


37 


sometbing seemed to tear her heart dowu, down, down ; 
and she knew that all of golden happiness and sweet 
love and faith had gone from her life forever. With not 
so much as a murmur, therefore, she fell nervelessly in 
the rank and tangled grasses, her senses gradually leav- 
ing her until all became cloudy and indistinct and her 
limbs grew to the coldness of marble. 


38 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


CHAPTER Y. 

A QUESTION AND ITS ANSWER. 

Who aud what was Adelaide, Marchioness of Rip- 
dale, before her marriage?” 

The question was calmly addressed by Elra Brookley 
to her hostess next morning as that lady and she linger- 
ed over a late breakfast. Murray Cresenworth was also 
there, toying with some game pie and other dainties, and 
making ar brave show of being ravenous, although in 
truth he had not touched any food that morning. He 
had been coaxed into staying at the Castle for the night, 
and could not sleep for the haunting thought of Elra’s 
dead white face, and icy hand, last evening when he 
had rejoined her in the woods by the lake. Something, 
he told himself, had transpired to have effected so start- 
ling aud sad a change in Elra’s whole being, something 
very untoward it must have been, for her spirits of the 
morning would have enabled her to have shaken off any- 
thing trivial j and Murray’s brain was exercised vainly 
to fathom the difficulty. This morning, too, the cold list- 
lessness of her manner would give one the idea that her 
very heart was dead within her, that she cared for nothing 
like she did yesterday morning, that in fact the world 
had come to a standstill for her. 

Could it be she has seen Borradale, or what can 
have happened % thought Murray j he gave little cre- 
dence to her explanation of having fallen asleep in the 


A QUESTION AND ITS ANSWER. 


39 


woods, and having been awakened by his calling her by 
name, when he had almost despaired of finding her. 

You look cold this morning, dear,” said Madame de 
Montespaire, kindly. “ I fear that you must have taken 
a chill yesterday during your nap in the woods. About 
the lovely Marchioness, did you ask me? Why dear, 
she was the daughter of a man of wealth and note, whose 
name I don’t remember, and was reared in the lap of 
luxury. She was a famous shot, a dashing horsewoman ; 
and, by the way, that reminds me,” she said, addressing 
Murray, did she not, or was it only rumor, get a young 
man of good standing, Borradale his name was, a 
nephew of the Earl of Darcliffe, I think, into rather an 
ugl3' pickle by one of her usual daring feats of horseman- 
ship. I never heard the rights of the story, but I believe 
it was risky in more ways than one. She rode in Dar- 
cliffe races in a jockey’s colors and costume, pulled her 
horse, which chanced to be the favorite, and designedly 
lost the race. Young Borradale was made accountable 
by the jockey club for the misdemeanor, as it was he 
who had abetted the fraud, by giving her the mount on 
the favorite.” 

The story of any little scandal never loses its piquant 
flaver, so long as there is a woman to recount it. At 
the name of Borradale EIra gave a painful start, but 
seeing, or feeling rather, that Cresen worth’s eyes were 
on her, she asked calmly. 

Borradale is then the name of this nephew of the 
Earl of Darcliffe?” 

Yes, dear, and I believe he has been greatly im- 
poverished since then, as his uncle has cast him off, and 
it was this that induced the present Marchioness to give 


40 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


him up without another thouglit, for I believe they were 
rather attached to each other pre%dously, aud in fact had 
run wild as boy and girl together.” 

She might have rambled on forever, as Elra was too 
much crushed apparently to allow of her uttering a syl- 
lable, and Murray^s breath being fairly taken away by 
the news, each word of which he felt drove a dagger 
through the gentle womanly heart beating within a few 
paces of him ; but Monsieur de Montespaire, who 
despised late breakfasts in the abstract, and all who 
took part in them, entered at this moment with a gun in 
his hand. 

Eeady for the chase, eh, Gresenworth ? If you care 
to come, I have a good double barrel at your disposal, 
and we can have some good sport through our patches of 
forestland.” 

But our carpet knight, after timidly consulting Elra’s 
eyes, in which he read something of encouragement, 
preferred to linger with the ladies. Everything that he 
could possibly devise was done during the course of that 
morning to chase the cloud from Elra’s brow, and with 
such success that at length her little ripples of laughter 
sounded nearly as bright and ringing as ever. It was 
in this happier frame of mind, into which his gay re- 
partee had coaxed Elra, that Murray aud she strolled 
down the avenue with the arching trees overhead, and 
the wind soughing in the branches, prepared, as they 
were fully, to enjoy the lovely summer weather in each 
other’s company. 

However they were destined to have a slight break in 
the monotony of so delightful a programme, for com- 
ing towards them from the tower gate which guarded 


A QUESTION AND ITS A NS WEE. 


41 


the entrance to the demense, they perceived a young man, 
whose steps were hastened as he caught sight of them. 

It was Butland Borradale. 

They met, and Murray watched Eira Brookley’s face 
keenly, but it was not to be read. With a happy little rip- 
ple of laughter she extended her hand to their visitor, and 
the next few minutes were made very bright with allu- 
sions to pleasant memories, and delightful anecdotes, 
and repartee from all sides, Then, in a lull of the con- 
versation, Eutland Borradale, turning towards Elra, 
with eyes that softened with deepest tenderness, as he 
saw her fresh young beauty looking lovlier than perhaps 
ever before, under the swaying boughs of the blossom 
heaped chestnuts. 

^‘You got my letter I see by your answer, but you did not 
tell me half what I longed to know,’^ he whispered, bending 
towards her, but loud enough for Oresen worth to hear. 

Will you grant me a delicious long afternoon alone at 
your feet, dearest This was breathed very low, but 
sweet and clear as a bell rang her careless answer. 

The horses await us at the door; Mr. Cresen worth 
and I have an engagement to ride this afternoon.” 

For a moment he was staggered by her answer, and 
grew pale to the lips, his eyes darkening in anger, but 
the next instant he had forced himself to be calm, and 
drawing himself up proudly, he lifted his hat with all 
the freezing hauteur which the bluest blood of England 
can best assume at will. 

It must be as you decide,” and in a moment he had 
turned on his heel. 

“Ah,” thought Murray, drawing a deeper breath 
than usual, “ it is as I conjectured.” 


42 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN 


CHAPTEK YI. 

A woman’s resolution. 

How tiny, how inconceivably small is our human 
nature with its aspirations, its pursuits, its little glories, 
its trials, its infinitesimal sufieriugs. Look out through 
the cold twilight at the grey villages clustering about 
the mountain’s brow ; what a speck each hut ; what 
a palmfal each village i Yet within, those huts live 
human beings, taller, stronger, perhaps more noble than 
we who survey them. Within those villages palpitates 
the heart, the strength, the stir, the workings of human 
life. And far, far above all, the immense Being who guides 
and doubtless looks down, and if his eye were not All- 
seeing, would that Eye detect us in, our sufferings; if His 
mind were not all perceiving, would he ken that we poor 
beings lived, or groaned, or toiled? 

And we, perhaps, if we sometimes soared beyond our little 
lives on looking back, how much of poignancy would our 
griefs and miseries lose from the far off sphere from 
which we might survey them. But it is hard to rise 
thus above the cruelties and griefs of life, and in the 
ocean of sublimity forget them. 

Somewhat of these saddening realities passed through 
Elra’s mind, as with a feeling of utter loneliness she stole 
down toward where a line of poplars marked the pro- 
gress of the brook watering the lawn at Montelarde. It 
was a balmy summer afternoon ; scarce a ripple of wind 


A WOMAN'S RESOLUTION. 


43 


was there to stir the leaves of the poplars that shivered 
through the calmest day. The shade of the oaks was 
dark and .cool, and the sweet smelling hay was freshly 
strewn upon the sward, when, with a novel in her hand, 
she lay down upon the rugs and cushions provided by 
the attentive Cresen worth and began to read some of 
Madame’s light literature. She had complained of head- 
ache through the morning and had entreated for a rest 
in the long and sultry afternoon, when Madame would be 
making a somewhat distant call; and now with heavy lids, 
which unwillingly did their duty, she crept languidly 
through a page of a very racy French novel. Gradu- 
ally her eyelids drooped and she listened with a shud- 
der to the dismally weird sound amongst the poplars. 
Those ghostly trees that in the cold twilight freeze the 
blood with suggestions of the suicide and midnight mur- 
der, which they appear to have seen enacted beneath 
their branches and for which they seemed ever to shiver 
and weep. Elra revelled in the gloomy thoughts 
brought by the tremor of those silver-grey leaves. There 
is always a certain pleasure in sharing ligature’s gloom, 
very different from the endurance of one’s own sorrow. 
Elra was awakened from her reverie by a footfall on the 
turf beside, and a voice ringing in her ears, a voice that 
was always destined to thrill her. Alone !” She did 
not need to raise her head to recognize the intruder. Too 
well she knew the well-built frame and the face which 
charmed, though scarcely more handsome than manly 
looking. There are those who hold that grey eyes are 
treacherous. Certain it is they have the greatest power 
to soften or darken, to lighten or harden, of any color, be 
it brown, blue or black. Dark grey starry eyes, which 


44 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


changed with every word, a well cut profile and, sur- 
passing all, a sensitive sweetness of expression playing 
around the full, ripe lips, about which lurked great capa- 
bility for humor. Such were the features whose memory 
came crowding back to Elra as she, with determined 
bent head and averted eyes, caught his first low words. 

Elra,” he said in sorrowful tones, which brought her 
back to the happy days, when together they had chased 
the pretty corn-crakes through the meadows at Offington, 
irrespective of damage done to the silvery grasses j 
“you are cold as an iceberg 5 whyf’ 

A little tearless sob broke from her as she viewed him, 
tall and manly looking, with his thrilling, soft eyes bent 
in pleading to hers, and not venturing, as was his wont, 
to touch her hand with ever so timid a caress, or to pass 
his fingers with even the gentlest tenderness through her 
braided locks. Catching no answer from her lips he bent 
low over her, till his whispered words reached her ear : 

“ Have you forgotten your love T 
His hand was laid on her shoulder with what she chose 
to deem the tenderness of an elder brother for the sister 
of whom he is proud. That gentle caress as he well knew, 
could not fail to thrill her, and half unwillingly she raised 
her eyes to his. Yes, Eutland Borradale she knew had 
power to kill all that was lovely, and sweet, and bright 
in her life, to turn all things forever to blackest night. 
She knew she worshipped this young man standing 
above her with a love which is known but once in a life- 
time, and which, when killed, drags down the heart to 
bitter death or rather petrefaction unfailing with it. 

“Eutland!” His name broke from her lips in a half 
groan, and shuddering with pain as she looked at him, 


A WOMAN'S RESOLUTION. 


45 


she crouched lower ou the ground at his feet. In an 
instant he was on his knees with his arm about her. 

Elra, what is it grieves you f’ he murmured gently; 
but recoiling from his caress she sprang to her feet. 

By what right does your arm encircle me now?” she 
said with mocking curl of the iip. By the right of love, 
I suppose. Elra,” he cried in scathing tones, I must 
conclude that you are not your usual self to-day.” Then 
with all his manly dignity reasserting itself, he added : 
“ I suppose you remember that you have promised to be 
my wife ?” I remember, ah, too well ! Kutland,” she 
said, more gently, choking back a sob, it is only fair to 
you that our engagement shall from this moment be 
canceled. This is yours,” as she drew the crescent of 
diamonds from her huger. ‘‘From this hour your love 
can fly un trammeled whither it wills. 

^^Aud the meaning of this?” “That can be told in 
four words, you yourself wish it.” And my answer lies 
in three, I do not.” “ You do not love me, Kutland ?” The 
question was breathed in fear and the answer came 
slowly, calmly, coldly, I do not.” Something seemed 
to strike her as with a glove of steel and she staggered, 
but raising her eyes bravely to his she asked : Then, 
why dare you to wish that our lives should be joined?” 

Because you yourself wish it,” he rejoined coolly. With 
flashing eye and flashed clfeek she drew herself up 
proudly. Coward,” she cried, I would rather see 
myself dead than be your wife ” A dark light sprang 
into his eyes as he seized her hands and held them 
forcibly at her side whilst they looked into each other’s 
eyes with all the darkest ])assions that human hearts 
can know. You are mad,” he cried ; “ what has come 


46 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN 


to you ? You liave loved me, you love me still, as only a 
true, brave, loyal woman cau^ and you dare to tell me, 
^ go, I will have you no longer by my side.’ ” Here he 
paused and his tone softened. You have said it once; 
but dare you say it again."’’ His hand released hers, 
his arm stole around her neck and his eyes sought liers 
in the mute eloquence that he was perfectly aware never 
failed to thrill her, and for one weak, delicious moment 
hers answered his. 

He had conquered; he knew he held her captive once 
again in that moment of sweet intoxication, and she 
trembled as she remembered all, and thought of her 
resolution so weak, so weak when his soft eye held hers 
in thrall. 

^‘Eutland, ” she breathed, you have been so cruel, so 
treacherous ” 

^‘Anything else, darling?” he whispered, interrupting 
her catalogue of his virtues. His cheek was now press- 
ed against hers, his eyes dancing with humor, liis tem- 
per unruffled as ever. 

This was the man who with his pliant, ever-ready smile 
had stolen the entirety of her essentially womanly heart, 
leaving, alas, the dire consequences of that heft to be 
learned only long years after. 

The poor little struggling bird taken in the net which 
her wings with all their little fluttering efforts could 
not break, as a last resource, called to her help all her 
resolution. She thought of all her vows, never to rejoice in 
her recreant lover’s smile again, never to allow her pulses 
to throb as his lips met hers ; she thought of all this and 
of all that was past, and with a superb effort she drew 
herself away from his arips as she thought forever. 


A WOMAN’S RESOLUTION. 


47 


Rutland, ” she said firmly, our wedding will never 
take place; it is impossible! Here are your diamonds; 
they were, I believe, the pledges of your sincerity.” This 
she could not refrain from saying a little bitterly, adding : 
‘^We are, remember, in future, strangers.” 

That, then, is your final decision, ” he retorted in chill- 
ing tones, his eyes darkening in anger. 

‘‘ It is !” She did not flinch as she said it. 

My wish can only bo that you may not live to repent 
it bitterly,” he said coldly ; “ but I would think a little be- 
fore I should sacrifice my life to be wrecked as you are 
doing. Think ! think, Elra ! you are young, you are 
beautiful, and, alas ! for yourself you love me.” 

Alas ! But this I remember, only when you will kneel 
to me in days to come and cry, ^ Elra, I love you as I have 
loved none other ; I live but to unsay those cruel words 
of mine ; I shall die if need be to prove my love,^ but it 
will then be too late ! too late ! ” She covered her face 
with her hands as she sank on the rugs again and groaned 
aloud. 

Elra !” 

‘^Rutland, leave me, I command it,” she almost shriek- 
ed as he stood irresolute not venturing to approacli, not 
wishing to go, and with the fitful fires of anger lighting 
in his eyes. 

“Be it so!” he cried in withering tones, as seizing the 
crescent of diamonds which for two long years had been 
such an object of tenderness to Elra, he flung it con- 
temptuously in the stream and was gone ere that inde- 
pendent young woman dared to look again in his face. 

Gone! did I say? Ko, not gone; he had caught sight 
ere he turned away of the deathly pallor creeping over 


48 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


her cheek and lips, and in an instant, forgetting all but 
his tender feeling for her, he had flung himself down be- 
side her, drawing her swiftly to him, and she did not 
resist. 

She had felt the bitterness of parting with the man she 
loved 5 death itself, she thought, might perhaps come less 
bitter, and now that he was by her side again, she yield- 
ed up her lips to his quite submissively for such a 
would-be independent young lady. 

Forgive me, little darling, I cannot live without you. 
Tbe words I spoke were but uttered in frenzy, for, in 
very fact, my manhood\s noblest devotion is now, and ever 
has been yours. Darling, I shall give you life-long proof 
of it. ” And she believed him. 

Slowly she raised her eyes, and unflinchingly as any 
judge, met his burning glance, but something spoken by 
those impassioned eyes made her own white lids to quiver 
and droop. 

Why do you change your mind so quickly,” she re- 
torted with a brave assumption of indifference. Who 
are you, that you seem to have the privilege of moulding 
the course of my life to your will P'> 

Elra, I am the man,” he said not arrogantly, but with 
the inspired eloquence of a deep passion, to whom your 
whole soul has gone forth and yielded submission, and 
who, in return, worships you, adores you, will die for 
you.” 

He had conquered indeed, doubts and suspicions were 
flung to the winds, for in his strong unyielding arms she 
breathed half in fear, half in ecstacy of love and gladness. 

‘‘ Be it so ! ” And their wedding after all was fixed for 
three days from thence. 


A WOMAN'S RESOLUTION. 


49 


Out into the moonlight she wandered that night, Elra 
with the shadowy eyes and the brow stamped with intel- 
lect, which' so many women had envied her j out she 
wandered to where, across the star-illumined lake, a tiny 
shallop glided, cutting with a soft and murmuring ripple 
the crystal bosom of the placid water, where deep down 
in the glassy wavelets she could see the glittering con- 
stellations shimmer like diamonds set in a sea of sap- 
phire, whilst above in regal beauty Diana’s crescent sail- 
ed, showering her floods of frosted, silvery light over 
smiling hill and towering mountain, frowning crag and 
glowering fortress ; wrapping the far away blue peaks 
in hoary grandeur, whilst her softened beams the while 
descended on the dancing waters in the valleys below, 
playing in and out amongst the darkling shadows where 
the weeping willows hang forever their light tresses over 
the mysterious eddying pools. 

“And his love, like these things, was sworn to last 
forever and forever,” she murmured. O, Elra ! Elra ! 
Elra ! you are his slave. He loves you not ! yet, as long 
as life is yours, yon must bend and kiss the hand which 
masters you, for you cannot live without him ! ” 

No,” she continued, clasping her cold hands together, 
“ I am his slave. Come what will, I cannot live without 
him.” 


oO 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN 


CHAPTER yiL 

WHO SAW IT? 

It is the morning of the wedding — a bright, glorious 
morning, from whose sky the early tinges of crimson, 
and puri^le, and emerald have scarce faded j a morning 
redolent with joy and blessing j a morning which had 
been looked forward to with intense feelings of awe and 
dread by the proud, courted beauty, Elra, whose very 
smile seemed only needed to charm all men to her feetj 
a morning that had been looked forward to by Rutland 
Borradale with hope and gladness, for he was very 
proud and very fond, deep down in his heart, of the 
beautiful American girl whom he was soon to call his 
wife. 

Elra at a quarter to eleven had a merry group around 
her, and already much that should be done to her toilet 
had been done. It was to be a strictly private affair, 
but Madame de Montespaire could not refrain from ask- 
ing some chosen friends to celebrate the occasion by 
lunching with them after the ceremony. You see, our 
dear Elra prefers it so,” said Madame to one of her pet 
lady callers, and in the existing state of relations be- 
tween the groom and his uncle, the Earl of Darcliff'e, it 
is no doubt best that it should be so 5 but we shall have 
our own little time for gaiety afterwards ; and quite a 
number, amongst others the beautiful Marchioness, have 
accepted invitations to be present at an unpretending 


WHO SA IV IT? 


51 


little spread after the young people have settled all about 
their future. Be sure you come, luncheon will be served 
early, twelve is the hour fixed.” 

Ill the meantime, eleven had struck, and all was 
apparently ready, but faces began to look grave, and it 
was whispered around, The bridegroom, where is hef^ 

Elra, chilled to the heart at what she deemed a slight, 
had herself asked it in a whisper more than once, and at 
last, with growing fear and horror, her lips had refused 
to ask it any more. A quarter past eleven, half-past 
eleven, and the ashen color of Elra’s face was disagree- 
able to see. 

She and he, I suppose, have between them planned 
this humiliation for me. Oh, Eutland, it would have 
been more manly to have taken back the ring you gave, 
and accepted your release there and then. But no,” she 
cried bitterly, he would have been an idiot to have 
thrown away his claim on my fortune, when it is for 
my wealth alone he is marrying me. Murray,” she 
stammered, with white lips, as that gentleman approach- 
ed her, Is — Has ” 

Murray shook his head, but could not trust himself to 
say anything. 

^^Then,” she cried, i^assionately, ^Hell everybody to 
go away again j there will be no wedding.” So saying, 
she tore the veil and wreath from her head and flung 
them far from her. 

The Marchioness of Bipdale has arrived, my dear,” 
said Madame de Montespaire, approaching, and show- 
ing on her good-natured face her utter perplexity as to 
what to think or say. ‘‘ Where is Mr. Borradale *? What 
can have become of Rutland, dear? I do not know 


52 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


what to think. Something grave must have occurred 
or he would have let us know. - But there is time yet/^ 
she added, encouragingly; ^^we can keep our guests 
waiting some little time/^ and she hurried away to enter- 
tain them. “I fear,’^ thought Elra, bitterly, ^Hhere 
may indeed be time enough, but there will be no bride- 
groom to-day. Oh, if I had but trusted poor Murray, 
this would never have happened.” 

“Poor” Murray chanced to be by her side, and his 
gray eyes, full of tenderness and love, sought hers. 

“Murray,” she breathed, almost beside herself with 
mortified feelings and pride, “why did Isay ^No’ to your 
w^hispered words that evening? Why did you let me?” 

With a great wave of joy sweeping through his soul, 
Murray quickly, daringly, caught her to his heart. “I 
will never again let you say my darling,” and to 

his whispered words this time came the answer from her 
smiling lips, “ Yes.” 

But ten minutes later the agony in her eyes belied her 
words, as the procession moved forward towards the ora- 
tory of the castle. “ Fifteen minutes more and what 
fate awaits me ? Oh, if he would but come !” She 
paused, she lingered, under any trivial x^retext that came 
to her mind ; but no sign was there of her recreant lover 
appearing even at the last hour, and Elra’s, soul was 
crushed to earth at the thought. 

“But no,” she cried, “events shall not conquer me. 
I am the daughter of a race which has ever valued 
courage, of a noble race, and I shall show them that 
such an one can still be proud. The slight must not 
crush me;” and with a queenly stex> she advanced up 
the centre of the chapel with Murray by her side. 


PV/IO SA W IT? 


53 


And Low fared it the while with Rutland Borradale ? 
As a matter of form — merely emi)ty form, he thought — 
he sent word to his uncle informing him of his inten- 
tions, and asking, for the sake of his future bride, some 
little token of friendliness between them. Judge, there- 
fore, of his surprise when he received a wire back : 

“I shall place Darcliffe Castle at the disposal of you and 
your bride for the mouth following your wedding, and I 
cordially invite you to spend your first happy days to- 
gether there. I am going to Norway for the fishing, so 
you will be entirely undisturbed, and you cannot find a 
prettier retreat for your young wife. I shall be with you 
at the wedding if you state what time.” It was signed 
merely with his initials. 

No word he mentioned of what had passed between 
them. It was as though he wished to exclude the disa- 
greeable phantom of a bygone day from his mental vision. 

The Earl of Darcliffe, truth to say, had been as in- 
tensely proud of his i^romising young nephew as an 
utterly selfish nature can be, and now that he heard 
that amongst all the suitors and gallants who had sighed 
at the feet of this American heiress, renowned equally 
for beauty, good breeding, and wealth, Rutland Borradale 
had alone been the accepted one, the pride of family and 
blood returned, and eagerly he opened his arms to his 
long-banished nephew. This communication of the 
EarPs reached Rutland Borradale only the evening be- 
fore his wedding, on his return from seeing his bride- 
elect, when he had arranged with her all the necessary 
particulars for the morrow. 

^^The dear old uncle,” he said with full heart, ^^I al- 
ways knew he was a brick, and didn’t mean it at heart j 


54 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


and oh, won’t it be a surprise and delight to my sweet 
little Elra ! she darling little thing is too good for me. 
But she loves me and she is the sweetest little woman 
ever trod, so we might as well have things as the are.’’ 

In the meantime he sent word to his uncle in Brus- 
sells to be down at ten the next morning so as to be in 
good time, as the ceremony should come off at eleven. 
But in the morning came a telegram from 104 Boulevarde 
des Espangnols ; 

Come, quickly, your uncle has met with an accident. 
Ismay de la Eoche. ” In half an hour he was by his 
uncle’s side, whom he found suffering from a fractured 
bone in one of his feet, but who otherwise was not seri- 
ously hurt. He, Eutland, had telegraphed to his fiancee 
on arriving at the Boulevarde, and had, at his hostess’ 
kind persuasion, given her the telegram to look after. 

“ Marie, dear,” said Madame de la Eoche, ‘‘ tell Bogartz 
to take this message around. ” Pretty Marie as she trip- 
ped away on her mission had the curiosity to look at the 
address, and, meeting with her sister Odile, they mis- 
chievously determined to withhold it until the evening, 
when they intended leisurely to forward it. 

It is for the American heiress, and we owe her one 
point, you know. She can wait for her telegram.” 

They were malicious, these girls, and had been doubt- 
lessly much nettled by Murray Oresenworth’s behavior 
the night of the He Eothsleind’sball; but they were not 
really wicked, and if they could but have foreseen half 
of the grave consequences of that unjust deed of theirs, 
they would have parted with Eutland Borradale’s tele- 
gram more quickly than if it burnt their fingers. 

It arrived duly in the evening and contained the words: 


fVI/O SAW IT? 


Postpone the ceremony until twelve. I cannot be 
down until 11.30. My uncle has met with an accident. 
E. BorradMe.” 

But in the meantime what had happened ? 

What was it that greeted the eyes of the groom elect 
when he made his late entry into the oratory of the 
Castle where all were assembled, accompanied by his 
uncle whose progress was but slow and painful, and 
de Moutford who had always stood on terras of close 
friendship with the Earl, and who now wished to be 
present at the nephew’s brilliant marriage. 

At one end of the apartment was a group of four per- 
sons writing their names, and advancing with rapid 
strides to read these, Eutland Borradale saw but one 
name, and that one was — Elra Cresenworth. 

A man cannot cry out when he is hurt, but into Eut- 
land Borradale’s eyes sprang the ominous gloom, the 
wicked fire, that darkles in pools gurgling around the 
cruel death dealing rocks in a wintry sea. 

Elra Cresenworth quite calm now handed her husband 
an unsealed enveloiie. 

It is for Mr. Borradale,” she said in a low steady 
voice. 

Murray rather diffidently handed the envelope as 
bidden, and as Borradale opened the paper it contained, 
he saw at once that it was a cheque for a very large 
amount of money, the sight of which contained no par- 
ticular meaning to his mind, until his eye caught his own 
name on the cheque. He then realized that it had been 
drawn by Elra Brookley, and that by it the considerable 
amount of two millions of dollars was to be made payable 
by the G l^ational Bank of Hew York, to Eutland 


56 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


Borradale, and a separate note showed the words: 

Seeing it was for this he sought' my hand 

1^0 more did he give himself time to read, but flinging 
back the papers at their feet, he turned to the bridegroom 
with flashing eyes. You dare !” he hissed, between his 
clinched teeth, whilst his hand stole to his pocket. 
Quick as thought sounded the report of a pistol, and 
Murray Cresenworth lay next moment in a pool of his 
own life blood. 

In the confusion that followed none could rightly say 
they had seen the hand that had pulled the trigger, and 
sent that deadly bullet home. But the very thought of 
the crime went hand in hand with the recollection of 
events which so immediately preceded it. At Eutland 
Borradale’s feet had been flung the deadly weapon yet 
reeking with smoke and fire, and suspicion could not fail 
to point its grim finger at the man who had been crushed 
by one of the cruelest blows that could have been dealt 
by Fate, or rather by the hand of his now hapless victim. 

But when the authorities had definitely settled in their 
minds that suspicion did actually point in a certain di- 
rection, and had sufficiently gathered their straying 
mental faculties to be able to look around, there was no 
trace to be found, or no tidings to be had, either of the 
Earl of Darclifte, his nephew, or his friend, de Montfort. 


THE LADY OF THE MOATED GRANGE, 


57 


CHAPTER YIII. 

THE LADY OF THE MOATED GEANOE. 

Peeping from amid the darkling cluster of rich green 
oak and beech and silver poplar that shelter them from 
the southerly gale are the ivied walls of the ruined castle 
of Bramber, an ancient pile, majestic still in its decay as 
it overlooks from its lofty vantage ground, a sweep 
of country wealthy in farmsteads, with their broad lands 
studded over with the browsing cattle, busy villages 
where the children play, and quaint windmills, with 
gaunt flappers ever rushing through the air with their 
dull, booming sound. 

Truly may we utter our regret with Mr. Ruskin that 
there should have been no pencil to hand down to us the 
decaying beauties of this structure, or no pen to chronicle 
its glories while yet it towered in grandeur above the far- 
reaching flats that stretch away at its base. 

Levelled by the Parliamentarians under Sir William 
Waller, in 1643, after a short but spirited sieg6, there is 
little now remaining of this once strong fortress, which 
in its hey-day dominated a country of some hundreds of 
leagues around, and whose sieurs, besides possessing 
large estates in Munster and part of the city of Limerick, 
in Ireland, claimed vassalage dues at one time from the 
lords of Pevensey and Knepp in Sussex, and from those 
of Radnor, Brecknock, Hay and Abergavenny, in Wales. 

Breastworks, battlements, turrets, bastions that had 


58 


HER FLAY THINGS, MEN. 


shielded generations, and the lordly keep that had 
been witness to so many a deadly conflict have crumbled 
long since beneath Time’s cankering finger, or have 
toppled over the steep bank on which the castle was 
built, and lie strewn in shapeless piles of corroding rub- 
bish in the dry moat. 

Before the destruction of the castle in the seventeenth 
century there was, overlooking the drawbridge, and 
guarding, and containing the portcullis, or hanging- 
door, a strong, square tower, a part of whose flank is yet 
standing. This massive bit of masonry, though now 
presenting the appearance of a dismantled skeleton wall, 
thickly enshrouded with ivy, displays even to this day 
great solidity of build from its broad base upwards, 
measuring from some five to six feet in thickness. 

Of the many picknickers — perhaps from Shoreham, 
perhaps from Brighton — visiting the castle, those who 
look across the wold to the South Downs skirting the 
horizon, may perceive a striking bit of scenery expanding 
at their feet. Yonder, sleeping amidst the trees, is the 
little hamlet of Bramber, a helpless, unprotected cluster 
of weather-beaten hovels and quaint cottages, which ever, 
in the olden days of cruel rapine, fell the first victim to 
cruel marauders attacking the castle. The village as it 
is now seen, boasts of but a single street, which stretches 
to the foot of the nearly perpendicular ascent leading to 
the castle ruins. To the south of the castle, at a distance 
of some nine to ten miles, lie the towns of Brighton and 
Worthing 5 and on the west a darkling mass of waving 
pine and beech crowns the rounded crest of Ohancton- 
bury Eing, making at sunset a jagged wall of gloom 
against the crimson- tinted skyj whilst to the north and 


THE LADY OF THE MOATED GRANGE. 


59 


east spreads a rural and sweet, if somewhat tame, land- 
scape. Away on all sides stretch the yellow cornfields, 
with the waving golden grain or the rich green pastures, 
wheie through the long summer days the sleepy cattle 
stand knee-deep in the rank tangled grasses, or wher- 
ever it is possible far down amongst the reeds and sedge 
that shiver and sough in the bubbling cool water. In 
just such a wmy, perhaps, as did the poor peaceful beasts 
stand long years ago when the fitful tramp of horses^ feet 
was dimly heard afar offj when the blast of the bugle 
and the clang of armor grew momently nearer, till the 
stream of mounted warriors swept across the marshy 
plain, and the tide of war rolled in one great devastating 
wave to the foot of the castle. 

On the east side where the grass is vivid green and the 
tall-stemmed forget-me-nots interweave their growth 
with the nodding bulrushes, where the marsh marigolds 
and yellow kingcups abound ; there spread at one time a 
deep morass which has since been reclaimed to advan- 
tage. This morass had held abundance of wild fowl for 
the hawking parties which, in times of peace, often saun- 
tered from the castle, mounted on gaily-caparisoned 
horses, and dashed along the quaking turf, to watch the 
noble falcon wheeling in ever narrowing circles ere it 
dropped upon the prey, to engage in that gallant 
struggle which so delighted the old Norman barons, more 
especially, when it ended, as it more often did, in the 
death of the inoffensive heron. 

It was whilst indulging in this lordly recreation that 
John de Braose, Baron of Bramber, met with his un- 
timely death in 1232. Wheeling on the sedgy borders 
of the widespread marsh, the baron^s hot-blooded Span- 


CO 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


ish horse took umbrage at a flight of wild fowl rising 
with noisy flapping of wings and wild startled cries 
close to the place where he galloped. Tossing high his 
coal-black crest, the excited animal, with a terrifled 
snort, recoiled upon his haunches, and for a moment 
pawed the air in majestic grandeur, ere he viciously 
flung himself back and in hurtling descent crushed his 
mailed and helmeted rider to almost instantaneous death 
beneath him. It was then that the Lady of Bramber, 
the ill-starred daughter of Llewellyn — a bride but two 
short years ago — having repaired to the gloomy eastern 
towers to watch from their embrasured casements the 
gallant spectacle of the hawking party streaming away 
to the westward in the valley beneath, had the hapless 
fate to witness that black horse’s fall, and to watch her 
dead lord borne homeward to his castle and to her. 

Around the brow of the knoll whereon stood the castle 
and keep, ran a wall of considerable thickness, which 
formed part of the outer ramparts of the fortress, and 
which, towards the eastern side, where, protected by the 
severity of the incline, the castle was more strongly 
guarded, is to this day in a state of remarkably good 
preservation ; but to the west, from whence the chief 
rush of besiegers under Waller flooded the castle, the 
wall was entirely demolished and razed to the ground. 

One of the most striking features of this ancient forti- 
fication, as now seen, is the dry moat, which runs at the 
base of the castle and extends over a circular area of 
some 1,000 feet. Before the seventeenth century, when 
this moat was supplied with water from the river Adur, 
which flows through the valley bordering the east side 
of the castle, the water filling it spanned some forty- 


THE LADY OF THE MOATED GRANGE. 


61 


seven feet in breadth, from bank to bank, being some 
thirty feet in depth at the shallowest point ; and thus to 
the inhabitants of the fortress affording the strongest 
protection against marauding attacks. That part of the 
moat facing the south, which was spanned by the draw- 
bridge, is now filled with a dry rubble, formed in most 
part from the wreck of the Norman tower, which being 
added to and solidified by the covering of a coarse 
earth, has since allowed of a more easy access to the 
castle walls. Its deep cut sides, as also the steep banks 
which rise from the margin of the moat to the foot of the 
old ramparts, are thickly fringed with hazel saplings 
interwoven everywhere in dense growth with the silver 
birch, willow, gray poplar, and aspen, the shadow from 
whose boughs sweeps a green sward farther down where 
the pale bramble-rose and purple fox-glove, the thirsty 
iris, and yellow marsh lilies rise from amongst the dank 
mosses that cluster and creep around the spreading 
roots of the young oaklings. As may thus be seen, the 
moat affords a wealth of interest to the curious bands of 
lileasure- seekers, who picnic under its kindly shade, and 
who love well to pry into its vernal nooks and gather the 
wood-anemones there, or to sit, perhaps, and listen to 
the soughing of the wind amongst the quivering willows 
and aspens overhead. 

Most of the traditions and legends of the castle have 
been swept away with time, and though it does, indeed, 
possess a skeleton history — one quaintly- worded and full 
of interest — it is such mere outline as to leave behind an 
unprofitable wish for deeper draughts of knowledge. 

There are not wanting, however, in the records, half 
historic, half legendary, of this castle, tales of vindictive 
cruelty and heartless bloodshed. 


62 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


In the reign of King Henry YII, one Hubert de Hurst, 
an alien baron, having been accorded the charge of the 
castle duriug the minority of a certain William de Braose, 
the then Lord of Brain her, exercised much despotic sway 
over the country round, and was much dreaded amongst 
his own household for his jealous tyranny. Amongst 
other of his cruelties he effected the rape of Maud Will- 
mot, commonly known as the Maid of Ditchling, a peasant 
girl of great beauty, and of hitherto untarnished inno- 
cence. Her he forced later to marry him, treating her 
for some time with all the lavish tenderness and care 
that love could inspire j but she, young, gay and frolic- 
loving, could find nothing beside her jealous elderly 
lord, that consoled her for the loss of her free, happy, 
careless life amidst the sweet green fields and shady 
lanes, far down in the valley by her father’s hut. 

Before her forced marriage with He Hurst, Maud of 
Ditchling had deeply loved and pledged herself to one 
De Liudfield, the young scion of a good old family, 
though poor 5 and this young squire, under guise of an 
old standing friendship for De Hurst, having followed 
Maud to her husband’s castle, carried on with her there 
a secret and guilty intimacy. For a while unsuspicious, 
De Hurst, who was a true sportsman, admired in his 
guest all that was most frank and manly in manner and 
bearing, most skillful in dangerous exercise of arms, and 
most daring in feats of horsemanship, for in hunting 
fields and over hawking grounds none excelled De Lind- 
field. It was thus that, with stirring tales of dangers, 
happily surmounted in the jmrsuit of these manly re- 
creations, the young Squire was enabled to while away 
the dreary hours when the old and irritable Baron was 
attacked by his baneful enemy, the gout. 


THE LAD Y OF THE MO A TED GRANGE. 


C3 


But an imprudence on the part of tbe Lady Maud, led 
De Hurst to fear for the honor of bis name, and ascer- 
taining that bis suspicions were correct, and enraged 
with jealousy, he determined to hide his time for a bitter 
revenge. Accordingly late one night, as the Lady of 
Bramber was returning from an assignation with her 
lover in a summery arbor within the castle grounds, 
De Hurst, who had been a witness to the scene between 
the deeply guilty pair, had De Lindfield siczed and con- 
veyed to an underground dungeon, used in those days 
for tbe storage of corn, where he was thrown and locked 
in, never to come out again. 

The grim tale has it that De Hurst with his own 
hands, night after night, built up a wall with plaster 
and stone in front of the cell containing his victim, and 
that once, towards the completion of his task, having 
looked for a last time at the unhappy young man, he 
found that the hair of the latter had turned to a snow 
white. The wretched Lady Maud, upon learning the 
hapless fate of her lover, is said to have entirely lost 
her reason. When Sir William Waller battered in the 
southwest ramparts of the castle, and his victorious 
soldiers pick-axed their way into the staunch walls of 
the keep, there was then found in an old dungeon the 
skeleton remains of the man who had expiated his 
crime in a living tomb. 

What more is known of the castle’s history affords 
but little interest, being principally a bare account of 
the alliances formed in marriage by the Barons of 
Bramber in their days of power. 

Thus Time’s wave is ever rolling on, and the walls of 
this once brave fortress will disappear j history will 


64 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


close for ever over that remote spot, leaving nothing but 
a bald earthwork to tell of the labors of giants, to tell 
of heroic deeds, of cruel deeds, and of the gallant deeds 
of many of England’s noble sons performed beneath the 
shadow of those moated towers. The children will run 
and play amongst the clambering weeds and shivering 
willows that fringe the rock, and will laugh and dream 
not that this is hallowed ground, that every sod they 
l)ress is pregnant with the story of a deeper tragedy 
than ever they will witness, the chronicles even of which 
are now lost to them forever in the impenetrable gulf of 
Time. 

But history repeats itself, and Bramber has its mys- 
teries yet; mysteries that produce endless trouble and 
conjecture in the timid minds of the little rustics run- 
ning through the Grange meadows after the corn-crakes’ 
nests; and such as even make the stolid countrymen 
passing the miniature towers of the Grange entrance ex- 
ercise their slow minds with ever increasing wonder as 
to who may be the queen who reigns in that solitary 
mansion. 

For where the grass is vivid green, and where the 
solitary heron stands in the dusky twilight on the borders 
of what was once the deep morass, where, in 1232, John, 
Baron of Bramber, met his death, but which is now 
ground reclaimed to some advantage, there stands a 
pretty and quaintly gabled mansion called The Grange. 
At about the time the story opens this Grange had been 
leased to a lady giving her name as Mrs. Eldmere, who 
wore the deep mourning of widowhood, and who gave 
but little explanation save that supplied by her fune- 
real garments for thus burying herself in so remote a 


THE LADY OF THE MOATED GRANGE, 


65 


corner of creation as this little hamlet under the ruined 
fortress. 

She had, however, brought with her several servants, 
which showed that she was wealthy, which circumstance, 
coupled with the retired life she led, caused much won- 
der, but it was very few from the village who ever i)ene- 
trated to the inside of the Grange, and those who did 
saw little or nothing of its mistress. One thing, how- 
ever, had become well known, and that was that the lady 
of the Grange was very beautiful and wore costly dia- 
mond rings, which alone in the eyes of the maidens and 
swains of Bramber surrounded her with as much mys- 
tery and romance as any imprisoned queen. 

If they had seen more of her they might have pro- 
nounced her habits and ways very quiet and uninteresting 
for a i)erson so enveloped in mystery as she, for nothing 
apparently broke in upon the monotony and routine in 
that household, every member of which seemed to think 
highly of its mistress, and in consequence was more in- 
clined to keep from disturbances which might annoy her 
gentle womanly feeling. 

And this strangely beautiful lady, who seemed ab- 
sorbed in governing her household with care and 
patience, in the inner recesses of her private apartments, 
what was she like? What was the secret skeleton which 
confronted her there, and which had made her life such 
an apparent blank ? 

Ah ! that secret she had evidently never disclosed to 
any one, even the most favored, and none save her 
trusted maid knew anything of her past life, and she 
never broke the confidence reposed in her by her mis- 
tress. But even this faithful, handmaiden did not know 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


. 66 

exactly everything concerning Mrs. Eldrnere, for often- 
times she seemed entirely puzzled to see her mistress 
vainly searching among old papers which she kept 
on ordinary occasions carefully locked away, but which 
nevertheless often stole out from their hiding-place 
when Mrs. Eldrnere was alone, or fancied she was alone. 
But from such fruitless searches she always rose with a 
sigh and the sad murmured words: 

“ Not yet I Not yet !” 

But perhaps it may be interesting to our readers them- 
selves to take a peep at the Grange and its beautiful 
mystery-enveloped lady ere we proceed further with our 
story. 

The Grange Bramber is the name of one of those 
charming country houses which are to bo found in so 
many parts of southern England. It stands in park-like 
grounds, guarded at the entrance by two massive tower- 
gates, and is surrounded on all sides by a low stone wall, 
which is again surmounted by a thick bushy hedge, effect- 
ually prevents any possible chance of being overlooked 
by passers-by, and makes the grounds particularly shel- 
tered and secluded. 

The house is a long low building, whoso large bay- 
windows open on the smooth velvety lawns, overhung 
by well-grown trees and shrubs, and with its miniature 
lake and terrace opening onto a rose garden, it makes 
a pretty picture of quiet English country life. The 
family to whom the Grange belonged were now abroad, 
and it was at present occupied by a Mrs. Eldrnere, who 
lived a most quiet and retired life, was rarely seen out- 
side the tower-gates, and who seemed to have for her 
sole companion a tall white-browed girl, whom she desig- 


THE LADY OF THE MOATED GRANGE. 


G7 


nates as Topsie, and who must have been a school-mate, 
judging from the frequent allusions they both make con- 
cerning mistresses and i^rofessors, and the general hap- 
penings of school life which they had witnessed together. 

The arrival of Mrs. Eldmere and her young companion 
at the Grange had given rise at first to much conjecture 
in the minds of those few who make up the so-called so- 
ciety of a small country place j but as time went on, and 
the new-comers persistently ignored all advances, they 
saw that the ladies, for some reason or other, preferred 
to remain unvisited, and if ever Mrs. Eldmere^s name was 
mentioned, it was generally accompanied with a shake 
of the head and a look that might mean many things. 
She was considered to be peculiar ! and as the average 
countrj^ resident; has a horror of appearing anything but 
commonplace, it is to be feared that Mrs. Eldmere had 
not found favor in their sight. 

The lady^s young companion was variously spoken of 
as her sister (although there was not the slightest re- 
semblance between them), her companion, and femme 
de chambre; and to account for her long-continued resi- 
dence with Mrs. Eldmere, and the relations that existed 
between them, we must go back to some time previous 
to their arrival at the Grange. 

One morning Mrs. Eldmere had received a letter the 
contents of which we shall take the liberty of reading, 
and Avhich ran thus : 

Dearest Old Ell. : My husband has been ordered 
to India with the gallant lOtli (the Prince’s Own) and I 
am going with him. I cannot bear to have him go out 
alone for an indefinite length of time, and yet I dread 
leaving poor Topsie to mother and sisters, who are dread- 


C8 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


fully liarsli to lier. Do you know of any pleasant coun- 
try house where she will be cared for, treated gently, and 
perhaps loved, while I am away, which will not, I hope, 
be for long. You will have my eternal gratitude if by 
any sweetness or kindness you can soften her hard road 
in life. On my return I hope never to have to part with 
my sister again, as Redstone is going to send in his resig- 
nation, and we shall be able to settle down for good. If 
I do not see you before we start, 1 am always your old 
university chum, 

Bopsie, nte Aeteale Allesmere. 

This letter had been sent originally to the Chateau of 
Montelarde, and from thence forwarded by her business 
man in London to her present address. It was, there- 
fore, owing to this delay of the letter that, having hurried 
to London, Mrs. Eldmere had arrived only in time to kiss 
her friend good-bye and to see her sail for India, but 
in that very short time she had contrived to make her 
friend Bopsie entirely happy by whispering in her ear 
the words : 

Darling, Topsie will be a boon to my lonely exist- 
ence j she shall be cherished as my very own sister. But 
what has made her young life unhappy?” 

That is a miserable matter,” answered her friend 
with a sigh, ^‘but one which you have every right to 
know, so you will find the key to it in the papers which 
are waiting for you at my lawyer’s j and now God bless 
you! dear old Ell., and may you be as happy as you have 
made me; and with another kiss and many hand-clasps 
the two friends parted, and Mrs. Eldmere had returned 
to her quiet country home accompanied by a tall fair 
girl of whom she appeared to be very fond, and who has 
been her constant companion ever since. 


THE LADY OF THE MOATED GRANGE. 


69 


Although Mrs. Eklniere had often pondered over her 
last meeting with Topsie’s sister and the words she had 
then spoken^ she had never applied to the lawyer for let- 
ters which she knew contained the solution of the prob- 
lem. She knew that Topsie had had some great disagree- 
ment with her own family, which rendered it impos- 
sible for her to live happily at home, but she had lived 
too long abroad to know much about her friends, ex- 
cept through occasional letters from Artrale, and these, 
though never mentioning the details, had at one time 
been full of a mystei’ious something that seemed to hint 
at shame or sorrow for some one she loved, but who Mrs. 
Eldmere never thought of associating with her sister. 

She noticed that the girl never received any letters 
from her home people, nor did she ever mention them, 
and more than once she felt inclined to ask the reason, 
but a strange feeling of reluctance came over her and she 
left the words unspoken. They were so happy together, 
though their life was quiet and simple, and Mrs. Eld- 
mere often feared that Topsie might grow weary of its 
monotony, but she was always bright, gay, and full of 
laughter, so that her friend found it hard to imagine that 
any deep sorrow had ever shaded her fair young brow. 

It was Topsie, therefore, who (to Mrs. Eld mere’s sur- 
prise) spoke first on the matter she had been so deeply 
pondering, and almost as if she could read her thoughts 
she said, abruptly, one morning: 

know you think it odd, Elra, that I get no letters 
from home 5 I have watched your face 5 I know it is so. 
Did you never hear the why and wherefore of my ban- 
ishment? I know Artrale wrote it all to you. She 
thought, and I, too, that you ought to know.” 


70 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


I have never asked to see those letters, Topsie,” said 
Mrs. Eldinere, with all her love and sympathy shining 
in her eyes. I thought, perhaps, some day you would 
tell me, dear, and if not I am content not to know.^^ 
^^But you must know ! cries Topsie rather wildly. 
Oh, Elra ! let me read it out to you f and the girl threw 
herself at Mrs. Eldraere’s feet, and, leaning her pretty 
head against her friend’s knee, she drew from a folded 
packet some closely written sheets of foolscap, the writ- 
ing on which she began to read as follows : 


LITTLE TARTAR. 


71 


CHAPTER IX. 

“little tartar.” 

Once again I am in the old woods at Ravenstowe with 
Leuore by my side : unhappy, beautiful Lenore, with the 
genius-kindled eyes and broad snowy brow that intellect 
has so plaiidy stamped as all its own. 

In family we are fourteen — seven young lords and 
seven young ladies — I the youngest, and Lenore the 
thirteenth j Lenore, with hair which has caught the 
ruddy tinges of the setting sun, with eyes that mirror 
the shadowy tints of the purpling clouds at sunset, with 
a soul tender, deep, unfathomable. 

She had an alarming amount of brain 5 she was glo- 
riously clever! This, I fear, is a rather girlish eximes- 
sion, but my sister, the “little Tartar,” as Lenore was 
styled by the elders of the family, was very bright, and 
had always shown great promise for a brilliant after- 
life. 

She was, for all this great promise, a strange little 
girl, merciless where she took a dislike, and notwith- 
standing the possession of a dear, beautiful petite face, 
she was not so much loved or admired by those who ap- 
proached her as might have been expected. There was 
something in her manner that repelled — a something 
haughty and unconquerable — but she was also, by rea- 
son of her brightness and courage, the link between 


72 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


the timid younger ones of our family and the domineer- 
ing elders who, by reason of their having been born 
ahead of us, had every right on their side, but whose 
one-sided logic had been rather crumbled in a heap once 
or twice by our little Tartar.’^ This was considered 
remarkable for one of us girls, as our boys have always 
been esteemed very talented, and especially x)owerful in 
threading through an argument, the riglit and justice of 
which very often depended upon the fists that upheld it. 
One of our boys, “Lord Ouifid,” took a “ double first,” 
and has grown very fat ux^on fame ever since, but then 
he has since become the son and heir. A second of our 
young men. Lord Dumrell, shot a man, and was not only 
too talented to get hanged for it, but was acquitted with 
great honor and distinction j while a third. Lord Eancrid, 
did better still, as papa has always affirmed, for he shot 
himself! One of our younger lords, on the other hand, 
being dull witted, and unable to think of anything origi- 
nal, married an American heiress and became wealthy j 
while among the girls a few of them married, and most 
of them remained old maids, poor things I living most of 
their time at the dower house of Kavenstowe near Drisle- 
hurst, Sussex. 

Very little was there in common between our grand, 
haughty lady mother and her numerous little lords and 
ladies. Never did we run to her with our tales of woes 
and wants; and, after all, she may not have been to 
blame. I, Lady Artrale, the youngest of her offspring, 
having so often heard myself irreverentlj' termed the 
ninety-ninth, that I have begun to forget how many we 
are in family. 

But to return to our x^easure party in the woods, 


LITTLE TARTAR. 


73 


where Leonore and I are happily indifferent to all un- 
palatable family i)roblems, we are busily engaged in 
building up a naughty little gypsy fire, which we feed 
from time to time with twigs from the neighboring trees. 
I say naughty, because it has always been deemed irre- 
deemably wicked by my lady mother (and all her other 
offspiing of lords and ladies to the number of fourteen) 
for Lenore and I to so far forget our rank as to take de- 
light in the vulgar pastime of roasting mushrooms in the 
woods, and this is what we are now clandestinely doing. 

Lenore and I love each other tenderly, and take all 
our j)leasures in common j but I have also other feelings 
with regard to my beautiful sister. I venerate her be- 
cause she is capable of being so much more haughty and 
self-controlled than myself, and she has always been so 
immensely more talented than any of our smart family, 
including even the fat son and heir. 

I wish I were a snail, cries my sprightly sister, still 
keeping a sharp lookout for intruders. 

“ Oh !” comes in an astonished gasp from me ; but I 
suppose talent is always strongly eccentric. 

I should then have a house of my own, transportable 
at will.^^ 

But, dear,’’ I mildly suggest, would you not be 
cramped for room f ’ 

“Yesj that is why papa’s miserably fat son and heir 
could never get in to slay my pet rats, as he did yester- 
day. 

Happy America ! where children and rats are pro- 
tected by their own special laws,” she continued, ram- 
bling on from one thought to another. 

Indeed I hope my home will be larger th'an a snail’s,” 


74 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN 


I say, reverting to her former idea, otherwise I should 
have no room for lovely silver and things.” To which 
vague remark Leuore replies : 

“ There you are, foolish little Artrale, wishing for what 
you will tire of in less than three days. Poor little wom- 
an !” At this I look rather humbly at Miss Philosopher, 
but my after-th ought is to rebel. 

Lenore,” I say, very reproachfully^ you are so per- 
]3etually discontented that I am sure you never know 
what you want.” 

You are right. I shall never be satisfied — for it is a 
yearning for greatness and i)ower over my fellow-beings 
that eats into my soul.” 

Another flash of genius, I suppose, but it quite crum- 
bles my dignity into a little heap. You do say such 
funny things, Lenore,” I venture. 

^^Not at all 5” you do not know how I despise silver — 
how I despise wealth !” 

Oh ! ” She seems to startle so many ^^ohs ” from me. 

“ One never can dare to enjoy anything really wlieii 
one is rich,” Lenore exidains. ‘‘ I should never think of 
jaking mushrooms here in the woods if it were not for 
my poverty, and you know how much I enjoy them, sis- 
ter mine.” 

So saying, Leonore flings herself prone on her fur- 
trimmed coat, and in her usual graceful attitude of lazy 
content gazes dreamily up at the rooks overhead. The 
sweet perfume of violets and coltsfoot fills tbe air, and 
all around is to be seen the tender green of the young 
larch buds. 

“Nature is what I love,” she continued, sententiously ; 
Nature, whose voice comes to me in the hush of the pine 


LITTLE TAT TAT. 


75 


woods or the swirling rush of the river j Nature, which 
is Truth gloriously portrayed.” 

“And ill the meantime, dear,” I answer dryly, your 
mushrooms are burning. Can you not leave the ideal 
and descend to the real ? Here is your favorite dish 
cooked to a turn.” 

A rustling in the bushes and a slight cry of surprise 
from Lenore caused me to look up quickly, and I saw a 
stranger, a handsome young man, with hat in hand and 
an expression of much amusement, advancing towards us. 

Instinctively I feel that my cheeks are crimson from 
my recent exertions over the fire, that my hands are 
soiled, likewise that the stranger has most fascinating 
eyes, and is evidently a gentleman. Lenore is, however, 
equal to the occasion, for she rises quickly to her feet and 
asks the intruder, with a would-be haughty look, if he is 
aware that he is trespassing. 

“I beg ten thousand pardons if that be the case,”vhe 
replied, “but the truth is 1 am a stranger here, having 
lost my way in the woods, and seeing the smoke of a 
gypsy fire, as I imagined, I came this way, hoping to fall 
in with some one who could put me on the right path to 
Sir Gregory Athelhurst’s, where I am now staying to en- 
joy a couple of his rare gallops after hounds." I did not 
expect to surprise two wood nymphs at their repast and 
must beg to bo forgiven, for I see that owing to my un- 
fortunate appearance the mushrooms are now cooked to 
a turn, or rather to a cinder !” 

As he said this he looked at us with such a comical 
expression on his face that it was irresistible, and even 
Lenore Joined in the laughter that followed. In a few 
minutes we were chatting as easily as if we had known 


76 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN 


each other for years, and our new friend proved so en- 
tertaining a companion that time passed all too quickly, 
until Lenore, who had twice warned me of the lateness 
of the hour, at last insisted upon our going home. Mr. 
de Montford (this was the stranger’s name) begged to 
walk with us as far as the edge of the wood, as he said, 

I am afraiS, if you leave me alone again, I shall be lost, 
and the next time I may fall into the hands of the ogre 
of the forest instead of into those of t lie ^beautiful nymphs 
of the woods though I am already so much your cap- 
tive,'^ he managed to whisper to me, ‘‘ that you can do 
with me as you will.” 

^^Then I command you to leave us,” I replied, with a 
smile and a blush, for here is your road and ours lies 
there.” 

Lenore had been walking in front of us through the 
wood, as the paths were narrow, and Mr. do Montford 
had contrived to detain me at his side, by some pretext 
or other, till we reached the high-road which led to the 
village. 

There was something singularly fascinating to me in 
this man j he was too gentlemanly to trouble me with 
empty compliments, but his eyes had a marvellous power 
of expressing unspoken words of admiration 5 and though 
I fully realized that it was wrong to feel thus for an ut- 
ter stranger, I hoped that somehow we should meet again 
erelong. 

You must leave us now,” sai<l Lenore, earnestly. 

My mother would never forgive us if she knew we had 
been talking to you so long. Please go.” 

I will vanish at once,” said De Montford with a low 
bow, but you cannot be so cruel as to leave me without 
telling me your names — the names of my rescuers 


LITTLE TARTAR, 


77 


I am called Lenore, and my sister is Artrale/^ said 
Lenore, demurely. Now go, sir, and do not let us fiud 
you trespassing again on our dominions. Here she bowed 
and turned away, and be seized the opportunity to take 
nij- band and press it to bis lips with a whispered au 
revoir,’^ while with a significant look, that seemed to plead 
for another meeting, he left us. 

Well, Artrale ! I must say you more than flirted with 
the young man, said Lenore, as we walked slowly home. 
How would your fiance like to bear of this ? ” 

Ho you really think I flirted too much ? I said, teas- 
ingly. Why, Lenore, I believe you are jealous of the 
handsome stranger’s evident preference for me ! Am I 
to receive no attention but from my future lord and mas- 
ter? This young man was so romantic, and be was so 
good to look at, I could not help flirting just a little. I 
must have some fun, and there is no harm done any- 
how.” 

No harm done yet I but other and stolen interviews 
followed the first meeting of Lady Artrale and He Mont- 
ford, and wLat w^as begun in a spirit of coquetry, induced 
by the quiet country life led by two high-born girls who 
lived in almost entire seclusion, was destined to end as 
sadly as it had begun happily. In a word it came to this : 

Lady Artrale, before meeting He Montford, had for 
some time been engaged to be married to a man she 
really admired, and whom she esteemed highly, though 
a little fear was mingled with both these feelings. 

Bedstone, Earl de Brun, had become deeply enamoured 
of the lovely Artrale, whom he had met by chance in 
travelling; and though, owing to her youth and inex- 
perience, her mother would have wished for no engage- 
ment, she at last consented to his entreaties, and Artrale 


78 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


was to be married aud presented in the following year. 
She had seen but little of her future husband, but she 
knew him to be the soul of honor, and very exacting 
where his love was in question. She would have grieved 
sorely to lose him now through her own folly, and she 
trembled at the crisis that was approaching. ^To ray of 
hope seemed to brighten the clouds that were gathering 
round her hitherto bright young life. On the one hand, 
she saw the iron determination of a man ruled by a 
desperate passion 5 on the other, a pure, upright love, 
believing all things noble of its object, and expecting 
love and honor from the same. She almost hated the 
day on which she first saw De Montford standing in the 
light of the fitful fiame in the woods, and she hated 
herself, most of all, for fanning into flame a still more 
dangerous fire than that which flickered at their feet. 
But, now that she had coquetted with the wind, she must 
reap the whirlwind. 

will meet De Montford once more,” she thinks; 
“ but it must be for the last time.” And Lady Artrale 
arrayed herself in her most becoming gown — a pink cam- 
bric that had been much admired by her hero — and, 
taking her large straw, poppy-decked hat, she slowly 
walked through the grounds to their try sting place in 
the woods. De Montford was already there, and as she 
approached he came to meet her with out stretched 
hands and a happy light in his eyes that showed too 
plainly how dear she was to him. 

At last !” he cried. I feared you were not coming ; 
and now, what have you to say to me *?” 

“I have to tell you,” said Lady Artrale, simply, rais- 
ing her blue eyes to his face, ^‘that we must not meet 
again, I have only come to say good-bye.” 


LOST ON THE BRO W OF DA WN, 


79 


CHAPTEE X. 

LOST ON THE BROW OF DAWN. 

Here, as Artrale^s recital becomes vague and rather 
drivelling, Mrs. Eldmere thinks, we shall finish it our- 
selves. 

Do Montford, a young man of good old Xorman fam- 
ily, endowed though ho be with a handsome face and 
great cai)abilities for attracting the fair sex, with a large 
amount of brains and a rather diminutive rent-roll, has 
fallen decidedly in love with Lady Artrale, seventh 
daughter of Edred, Marquis of Eipdale, and his wife 
Leonora, and over and above is determined to marry her. 
He therefore gets a little disagreeable shock on hearing 
the word good-bye uttered by her in so calm a way ; 
but he is not easily baffled. I have likewise come to 
say that horrid little word, Artrale,” he says coolly. “I 
can no longer postpone my promised visit to that 
wretched estate of mine in Yorkshire. Don’t you i)ity 
me, Artrale F he continues, searching deeply in her 
limpid eyes for the emotions which he knows his words 
cause. 

Yes, he sees it all, rather plainly, too, for he is versed 
in the lore of woman’s looks, and he knows that his ap- 
parent indifterence has staggered the vain young lady 
before him. He therefore meets her angry glances with 
a smile on his i)arted lips as she says : 

‘•Lady Artrale, if you please,” and draws herself up 
to her full height. 


80 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


you will, Lady Artrale,” says Be Montford with 
indifference, though she fancied that for a moment a 
gleam of passion shone in his dark eyes. I will not 
detain you now, as you have said enough to prevent 
me caring to ,* but permit me to escort you to the high- 
road. There I shall leave you, and you will not again 
be troubled by my importunity.” 

So saying, he struck into a field which they had sel- 
dom or never traversed before, and side by side and in 
severe silence they threaded their way through the 
broad, rich pastures, each busy with his- or her own 
thoi\ghts. Lady Artrale suddenly becomes conscious, 
however, that they are treading new ground, and with a 
quick catch in her breath she looks at two peaceful- 
seeming cows, who, with that far-away look in their 
slumberous eyes so much admired in the heroines of 
novels, are so happily engaged in ruminating that they 
would not sacrifice their comfort for the uncomfortable 
effort of tossing pretty Artrale on their horns. No, she 
thinks they wouT harm her, but for all that, after a 
quick look at her stolid companion, she makes a little 
dash for a gate opening on to the highway. But, alas ! 
before they can gain the gate Lady Artrale flings her 
arms into space with an hysterical cry, then turns 
precipitately and flies, followed quietly and at a respect- 
ful distance by a noble-looking charger with coal-black 
mane and crest. On hearing her frightened cry. Be 
Montford's lip curls, and ho mutters, Ha ! my proud 
but timid beauty, I have conquered. It is as I had cal- 
culated.” And in a moment he has gained her side, 
where she stands undecided as to what point of a wide 
brook she should choose to jump into, rather than be 
trampled to death by a vicious horse. 


LOST ON THE BROW OF DAWN. 


81 


“You can never cross there,” says De Montford, 
feeling himself rather master of the situation. “If the 
horse he Avicked, he will surely follow you even into the 
water.*’ This is said rather unfeelingly, and Lady Ar- 
trale turns pale and sinks in an attitude of despair at his 
feet. 

“ What is to bo done? Cannot you save me?” 

“I do not think you need alarm yourself j the horse 
looks quiet enough. Besides, even should you wish it, 
there is no possibility of egress at this side of the field ; 
that line of blackthorn stakes bars all hope for us.” 

“ Well, then, I shall die here!” (this defiantly;) 
“ and I suppose you won’t care a pin?” 

“How can a man care or care not a xfin ?” thinks 
Do Montford, smiling stoically at her agony of despair; 
but he says rather softljy as his eyes look down into 
hers : 

“Did you care very much just now what pain you 
gave me ? and you gave it unsparingly.” 

At hearing his murmured words Lady Artralc is 
inclined to be indignant, but, remembering the wicked 
horse and her helxfiess condition, she becomes piteous. 

“ I cannot love you I I wish you would take that for 
an answer,” she rather whines. 

“ That is not true, and I shall malie j^ou love me,” re- 
torts De Montford masterfully, as she crouches lower on 
the sward. 

“ You have heard the only answer I can give you,’ 
murmured the lady. “ I wish you would accept it.” 

“ I cannot and will not accept any answer that you have 
yet given me. Artrale, I love you !” This was breathed 
rather than spoken in tones soft but full of feeling. 


82 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN 


Don’t care !” says she flippantly, whereat he bites his 
lips and grows pale, but very determined. 

^^Artrale!” he repeats, “my love is dangerous and 
deep 5 think twice before you spurn it.” 

“ Sir !” begins Lady Artrale grandly j then her dignity 
collapses, for, sailiugwith majestic strides towards them 
comes the coal-black horse she dreads so much, and as 
he breaks into a loud, an^ry whinny, she gives a little 
shriek : “ He is so wicked ! He has already trampled 
two of his keepers. “ I suppose my mangled bones will 
strew the iflaius to-morrow ! ” 

This she says with a persuasive sidelong look at the 
man above her, but he is as unfeeling as an oyster, for 
there he stands with immovable countenance until she 
longs to give him a little shake ! 

“Mr. do Montford.” 

“ WelU” 

“ Did you hear what I said 

“ Yes, that your bones would — ” 

“Y^esj will you not aave me?” This is said pathet- 
ically. 

“ I’d not mind being reduced to powder myself,” cries 
the young man nonchalantly. 

“ Oh ! oh ! oh !” Three little shrieks escape Artrale’s 
pretty lips as the horse, who is now close to them, paws 
frantically at the sod, ploughing up the dainty mosses 
in a ruthless manner. 

“Artrale, the horse is only playful j he will not harm 
you when I am near,” says De Montford protectingly. 

“ He will, he will I” cries she, desperately. “ Can we 
not jump the brook f’ 

“ Do not attempt it ; you will never get over it. But, 


LOST O.V THE BROW OF DAWN. 


83 


Artrale, suffer me !” Here he clasps her slight form in 
his arms, and with her hair sweeping her neck, and her 
face very close to his, he breathes : 

Artrale, in another moment you can be safe. I can 
put brook and fences far behind me with Artrale in my 
arms ; but, darling, I will not cross them without the 
answer my heart is longing for. Be my love, Artrale — 
be my wife, ray adored wife !” 

ITow passion is breathing from his lips and eyesj his 
whole frame is trembling with the very strength of his 
resolve that she shall be his, and Lady Artrale knows 
that the crisis of her shallow little life is at hand — that 
whatever word she shall speak in this moment of her 
supposed danger De Montford will hold her to forever 
after, if he really be the strong, determined man he 
looks. 

“ I choose rather to be trampled to death !” cries she, 
with a wicked flash from her handsome eyes, which seems 
to make her captor doubly determined to be the winner 
in this little game. 

That is not the answer I am waiting for, Artrale.” 
Here he holds her face close to his, with her form still 
resting in his strong arms, and looks into her eyes till he 
feels a quiver run through her frame, and he knows he 
has conquered her. 

I wait to jTrove my love for you, Artrale. Say you 
will be my loved and loving wife.” 

Yes,” came in a sigh from the pretty trembling lips, 
which were immediately pressed passionately by him. 

^^The horse!” she whispered in terror; save me !” 

De Montford, with one magnificent bound, such as the 
most powerful of athletes might justly think of with 


84 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


pride during a lifetime, cleared the wide brook, and its 
fringing line of blackthorn stakes, with his promised 
bride held lightly in his arms. 


What passed between Lady Artrale and De Montford 
after this we need not mention. Suffice it to say that 
the lady reached her home in safety, and, gaining the 
shelter of her own room, locked the door against all 
intruders, and then gave way to a burst of passionate 
tears. Tlie Fates have indeed been unkind to her. Had 
she not meant to dismiss De Montford this very day 
And instead of this she finds herself pledged to him by 
a promise which she knows he will surely make her keep, 
though it was wrung from her at a moment when terror 
had blinded her to every thought save that of her sup- 
posed danger. 

“ What shall 1 do F she moans, wringing her x)retty 
hands and restlessly pacing the floor of her room. 

“Are you here, Artrale cries Lenore’s voice at her 
door, and hastily removing, as she hopes, all traces of 
grief from her face, she admits her sister, who is evi- 
dently impatient at being kept waiting. 

Lenore’s quick eyes at a glance see that something is 
wrong. Artrale’s flushed face and nervous manner show 
her only too plainly that her little sister is hiding some- 
thing from her, and by dint of pleading and persuading 
she at last draws from Artrale the whole story of herself 
and De Montford, their stolen interviews, and now this 
promise given; and the poor child, with many sobs and 
tears, entreats her sister’s help and advice. 

Artrale, in her misery, notices that Lenore’s eyes are 
inspired with something that she cannot describe but 


LOST ON THE BROW OF HAWN. 


85 


as a strange sublimity, but they are very sad as she re- 
marks gently, 

I shall save you, Artrale. Have no fear, dear sister.” 

Dearest, do nothing rash,” cries Artrale, rather in 
fear of what she reads in her sister^s eyes — “nothing 
that can possibly hurt or blight your happy career 
through life or in society. Promise me.” 

But she answers abruptly. Leuore is always abrupt, 
Artrale thinks. 

“ I do not care for what you term society. It is mad- 
ness that a girl should yearn to go into society, to be 
stretched on the rack and tortured like any dozen of 
little fried oysters.” 

And so the subject was suffered to lapse for the time 
between the two young ladies. 

When we next see Lady Artrale and her sister we find 
them busied with preparations for the former’s wedding, 
and the old house, which had been so dull and quiet 
since the sudden death of their brother (by having shot 
himself ), is nowall alive and bustling with the excite- 
ment that such an important event is sure to cause. 

Artrale seems joyous and full of life, her eyes are ra- 
diantly blue and happy, and the late nervousness that 
had been observed in her manner had almost disap- 
I)eared. She had had a respite from De Montford’s at- 
tentions, as he had been called away peremptorily on 
business, and though he had written often, he had not 
since appeared on the scene. 

It was Lenore who brought Artrale nearly all her let- 
ters every morning, this latter young lady liking to lin- 
ger among her pillows a little longer than her sprightly 
sister, and it was therefore with little surprise that Ar- 


86 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


trale saw Lenore appear in her bedroom on the morning 
Ijreceding that of her wedding with a bundle of mouo- 
gramed notes in her hand. She little dreamed of the 
serpent in the basket of fruit. She found it, however^ 
all too soon, and with blanched cheek and lips handed 
it to Lenore, who, singing softly and happily as a young 
thrush in the luscious spring-time, is all unconscious of the 
horror written in her sister^s eyes. But Lenore changes 
color, too, when she reads 5 though, seeing her sister^s 
haggard face, she says confidently : 

It will be all right dear, don’t trouble about it, I will 
see him instead of you to-night, since he must see some 
one. To-morrow you will be past his power 5 darling, 
how happy you will be then !” 

Artrale’s blue eyes are full of tears as she tries to smile 
assent, and Lenore leaves her no time to pursue the sub- 
ject, which is not again mentioned between the sisters. 

That evening, in the hubbub and bustle of preparation 
for the morrow, no one noticed the slender white robed 
figure which stole out through the shrubberies; no one 
took any notice of a light-wheeled carriage which stood 
waiting by the shrubbery gate, and yet those were the 
signs and tokens of the opening act of a tragedy as sad 
and bitter as ever the pale crescent witnessed. 

Ko one missed Lady Lenore until the following 
morning, and then it was only because she was absent 
from her place as bridesmaid. This incident caused 
wonder in many minds, but in that of the bride herself 
it caused a panic which showed itself in her white face 
and trembling lips throughout the ceremony. Two and 
two were put together, and when Lenore did at last ap- 
pear, she found, alas ! a cruel reception. 


LOST ON THE BROW OF DA WN. 


87 


Lenore’s father, at her mother the grand cold mar- 
chioness^ bidding, refused his permission to his favorite 
daughter to cross the threshold and mingle with the 
other members of his family — refused to his hitherto 
idolized child the protection of a parent’s roof — and Lady 
Lenore found herself publicly lost — an outcast and 
homeless. 

So ended the sad tale written by Artrale, now Countess 
de Brun, to Mrs. Oresenworth, to throw some light for 
her benefit upon the past career of the beautiful Lenore, 

alia8 Topsie. 

« 



88 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN 


CHAPTER XL 

SIR aREGORY^S LOVE EEVER. 

AmoDg those of her neighbors who were curiously in- 
terested in the mistress of the Grange and her quiet 
way of living may be mentioned Sir Gregory Athelhurst, 
a wealthy baronet, who, having had occasion to stop for 
a short time at his Manor-house, had heard something 
which rather tickled his imagination, and, moreover, liad 
seen something that had still more powerfully interested 
him in that part of Sussex. 

Adjacent to the Grange, and dominating a princely 
park through which the mottled deer roamed at will 
among the tall ferns, is this Manor-house, the much- 
despised country seat of the jovial Sir Gregory, who, 
truth to tell, preferred his shooting cottage on his Scot- 
tish moor, or his racing box near New Market, to this 
lonely old pile of buildings, where his man-of-all-trades, 
Michael Dolan by name, seemed to be his sole companion. 
Eor, excepting a few waifs who visited the well-estab- 
lished county families scattered here and there, there 
were very few strangers who ever allowed themselves to 
be found in that rather forgotten part of the country, 
and it was because of this, and the doleful stagnation 
around it, that the Manor-house had always held so few 
attractions for Sir Gregory. The latter, when he wished 
to entertain his friends, did so always at some other of 
his country places. He was an ardent sportsman, had 


5//? GJ^EGOJUVS LOVE EE FEE. 


89 


killed tigers iu India and moose in Canada, was the 
straightest rider in the county, and iu addition to this he 
was a bachelor of forty-two, rich, and not ill-looking j and 
though the gossips said he was too much addicted to the 
foaming bowl, they at the same time excused this weak- 
ness as a necessary adjunct to his character of country 
squire. At this particular time Sir Gregory had already 
been at the Manor-house much longer than was his cus- 
tom. He had spent his days riding across the downs 
and in long rambles with his dogs, while his evenings 
had been generally passed in the company of a large 
bowl of punch. But even these attractions had begun 
to pall, and he had already decided to make preparations 
for his departure to the north, when something occurred 
to change his plans. 

One day while he was returning from a long cross- 
country ride, and was walking his hunter slowly down a 
wooded lane, he soliloquized thus with himself: This 
is getting to be blamed slow. I can’t stand it much 
longer. Glad I gave Dolan such strict orders to have 
my traps ready for to-morrow. The Manor is nothing 
but a sleepy old bat-hole. I shan’t be sorry to go north.” 

Just at this moment his hunter shied violently, and 
with a half-suppressed oath the baronet looked for the 
cause. What he did see was a fluttering silken skirt and 
the glimpse of a face so lovely that at the sight of it the 
bachelor baronet’s heart went humpety-bumpety, and his 
jolly face turned scarlet as his coat, while he heard a 
sweet voice saying, 

<^May I trouble you to hand me that basket?” and, 
looking down, he perceived a little fancy basket half full 
of flowers lying on the roadside near his horse’s feet. 


90 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


CertaiDly, madani/^ be said^ banding it to ber with 
great alacrity. Tbe fair unknown bowed ber tbanks, 
and disappeared behind a big oak trunk, leaving Sir 
Gregory with interest and curiosity both aroused as be 
peered anxiously between tbe trees to get another 
glimpse of bis fair inamorata. 

Who on earth can she be!” be thought 5 ‘Hbat is no 
mere country girl, I am sure ; I wish I could have another 
good look at ber. Turning bis horse^s bead homeward, 
be saw Dolan coming down tbe lane, and at once put 
him through a series of questions regarding tbe fair un- 
known, but tbe Irishman was as much at sea as tbe bar- 
onet himself. Dolan was Sir Gregory’s right band man. 
A good-natured, easy going, ready-witted fellow, with a 
fund of Irish humor j fond of a joke and perfectly de- 
voted to bis master. Tbe two men were about tbe same 
height and build 5 but Sir Gregory bad dark eyes and 
hair, while Dolan’s bead was crowned with a shock of 
coarse straight red, that no amount of brushing would 
reduce to order. 

That evening, after dinner. Sir Gregory called Dolan 
and ordered bis bunting clothes unpacked, and bis pink 
coat brought out, saying that be wished to make an 
early start for tbe meet next day. 

Why, sir!” exclaimed tbe factotum in astonishment. 

Sure I thought your honor would be departin’ be tbe 
railway !” 

Never mind, Dolan, I have decided to stay a few days 
longer, I have nothing to burry for, and I want to try the 
roan mare before I go ; besides (to himself), I must find 
out who my fair unknown of this afternoon may be. If 
she be staying in the neighborhood she will surely be at 


Sm GREGORY'S LOVE FEVER. 


91 


the meet to-morrow, either as an onlooker or a participant; 
ten to one she is a regular Diana as well as a Venus ! 
From this moment on Sir Gregory is possessed with one 
hope and one object in life, and hard enough he finds the 
task he has set himself. He discovers his fair one^s 
name to be Mrs. Eldmere, and that the lady is living at 
the Grange, but as she does not visit in the neighbor- 
hood, and is rarely seen outside her own gates, he tor- 
ments himself in vain to find som‘e means of approaching 
her. Thinking she may possibly play tennis, he goes 
so far as to handle a racquet, doing so about as grace- 
fully and effectually as an elephant swinging a bar of iron, 
but without any favorable result as to his playing tennis 
well, or seeing the lady, and he begins almost to despair 
of ever making her acquaintance. Dolan is the con- 
fidant of all his schemes, and he has orders to watch the 
Grange from time to time, hoping in this way to discover 
some means by which he can introduce himself to her 
notice, but at last the baronet growing impatient, re- 
solves on a desperate step. Just take these letters 
round to the ^Grange ’ and the ^ Kest,^ ” he tells Dolan ; 
and the person addressed feeling called upon to answer, 
but being totally incapable of answering like anybody 
else, replies in the following manner : 

“ Faix aff I will thot !” as he smiles his approval of 
his masters boldness, and goes off stolidly with the pre- 
cious missives. 

Dolan is a character in his own way, and when Mrs. 
Dolan allows him, he rules his master with a good- 
natured tyranny — that is, he makes allowances for hu- 
man nature’s frailties in him, and even helps them on 
occasions. But he has discovered that a great secret of 


92 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


any man’s power over his fellow-man is contained in 
these words of advice given him by a friend; Control 
your own wife first.” And Dolan sets about doing it. 
Now this at first seems not so easy, as Mrs. Dolan has a 
tongue that does perpetually seem to wag at both ends, 
Avhile for mere self-defence Dolan is reduced to the sad 
plight of placing corks in his ears, so as not to be dis- 
turbed in his duties or his night’s rest by the eloquence 
of his spouse. Howev<?r, by degrees his corks are made 
by an unaccountable agency to disappear, and Dolan is 
sorely troubled, for he finds himself completely at the 
lady’s mercy, till he hits upon a happy expedient that 
at last enables him to gain and hold undisputed sway. 
He has hitherto made it a rule to fly at the first sign of 
argument, and as Mrs. Dolan generally pursues, he now 
leads his spouse around the garden at a brisk walk. At 
first she has it, as usual, all her own way. However, 
the pace soon tells, she iDants for breath, and finds 
herself wishing that, for the sake of argument, she had 
never been blessed with such portentous charms. Her 
breath goes. She can but gasp something to the ef- 
fect that Dolan is an ‘Mggerant clod but that person 
refusing obstinately to hear her, she sinks on a bench 
that fairly croaks beneath her portly form, and relapses 
into an ominous silence. This manoeuvre, repeated two or 
three times a day, Avheu his madam is in her most argu- 
mentative moods, has an annihilating effect upon the 
discussion of politics and abstract subjects, and the said 
tonic duly administered reduces the poor woman to such 
a state of submission that she often hears herself with 
wonder pronouncing the words, ^^Then do as you like,” 
or, “Just as you say, but don’t worrit about it.” Thus 


a^EGORY^S LOVE FEVER. 


93 


Dolan liad found himself master of the field with regard 
to his wife. But there was some one else who was sup- 
posed to have some kind of a voice in his family, and 
that was his daughter Maggie, who, as Dolan pere ex- 
imessed it, was a caution, and too knowin^ for her age.” 
iJ^^ow just how Maggie had secured a voice, morally as 
w^ell as physically, happened in the following way : 

On one occasion of hurry and bustle, when the master 
had brought home some friends unexpectedly to sleep at 
the Manor-house, mere Dolan was struggling with a 
basket of spotless linen in the rear hall, which at the 
time was buried in utter darkness. Setting the basket 
down, she advised the youthful Maggie to run and fetch 
the lantern from the house-keeper’s room and to look 
sharp about it. This produced the effect of Maggie’s 
scurrying on her errand, and returning to the fourth 
landing of the stair- way, on which is situated the room 
designated. She then proceeded to crane her neck over 
the balusters, in the endeavor to throw light upon the 
scene of her parent’s struggle with the darkness and the 
linens, and seeing her below she (the daughter) muses 
thus : 

^^Mar is fearin’! she’ll whip me when I get to the 
bottom if she don’t have the light quick ! I know what 
I’ll do !” This with a sudden burst of inspiration, and 
suiting the act to the thought, she flings one of her pedal 
extremities (translated legs) over the balusters and holds 
aloft the lantern, so as to illumine her i^arent’s pathway. 
She loses no time either in turning the head-over-heels 
act, and for a moment she and the lantern offer the sight 
of a confused jumble in their endeavor to reach the 
ground first. On the whole, the lantern, I think, fares 


94 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN, 


worst, as it comes clown with a crash and a bump at a 
safe distance from Maggie, whose wide flung limbs are 
deposited in the linen basket ! Now on first becoming- 
aware that her daughter is fleeing through mid-air, Mrs. 
Dolan, with a gurgle of horror, sinks upon a chair, and 
hopes she is going to faint. But she does not; and when 
next she has the courage to remove her hands from her 
eyes, she sees through the semi-darkness a face peeping 
from over the rim of the wicker basket. This she slowly 
discovers to be Maggie, who has had the eifrontery not 
to have met with any personal injuries, at the expense, 
too, of her (Mrs. Dolan^s) newly washed table and bed 
linen. 

^^Not even her nose broken ! and my table-clotlis all 
spoilt, the hussy !” she cries as she makes a wicked dive 
for the linen. But Maggie in her heart of hearts, as she 
peeps from the basket, tells herself. Mar is tearin^ 
so she makes a lively spring from under mar^s porten- 
tous arm, and seeing no means of escape from the hall, 
she darts like a rat into an aperture under a walnut cab- 
inet, heavily laden with the master’s handsomest pieces 
of antique china ; nor does she suffer even the tip of her 
heel to remain open to the attack of the enemy. 

Come out of there, ye little viper I” says the afflicted 
mother, but Maggie laughs to herself and remains firm. 

Such a thrashin’ as ye’ll get !” 

Here a light appears on the scene, carried by the 
master himself, who had heard some of the uproar, and 
wanted to hear the rest. But the good woman had 
worked herself into so white a heat that she was ob- 
livious of everything save a desire to get at the culprit. 

“ Thrashin’s too good fur ye ! Ye’ll have the dose !” 


SIR GREGORY'S LOVE FEVER. 


95 


This for Maggie meant castor oil, two table-spoonfuls 
of which were choked down her throat each time she 
was particularly naughty, each time without fail to come 
up again, and each time to have a still bigger dose choked 
down again. Therefore was Maggie never more desper- 
ate than when the “dose^^ was mentioned in her hear- 
ing. The effect upon her in this instance was seen by 
the calm but determined upheaval of the china decking 
the walnut cabinet, of the rocking to and fro of the same, 
of the tottering — 

Hold I hold ! come out, you little ferret shouts the 
master in an agony of uproarious mirth, for nothing ap- 
peals to him like what he chooses to look upon as a huge 
joke, even though his china is in danger. 

Come out, little Meg ! and Til make it all right for 
you. You shall not be worried or punished. Til answer 
for that.^^ 

But Maggie is incredulous, and the earthquake and 
upheaval business continues until Mrs. Dolan succumbs 
in fear and trembling, falls into an arm-chair, and 
Maggie knows that she has won the day. 

She creeps out from her rat-hole with feelings of tri- 
umph and safety, and from that day she has gained her 
master^s protection and is never dosed.’^ 

But from her rat-hole on that day Maggie has carried 
with her something more than mere feelings of triumph 
and security. She has also carried with her a little faded 
piece of paper, blood-stained and torn at one end, and 
which piece of worthless paper no one but cunning little 
Maggie herself is permitted to see. 


96 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


CHAPTER XIL 
IN BACHELOR QUARTERS. 

Sir Gregory Athelhurst is a bachelor, and when we say 
that, we mean to imply that though he has now reached 
the mature age of forty-two, he has not yet found it 
necessary to change his state of single blessedness, being 
perfectly content to live in his beautiful, rambling old 
manor-house (going sadly to waste for want of a mis- 
tress), entertaining his friends and enjoying himself in 
his own peculiar way. Yes, Sir Gregory is a bachelor. 
Sir Gregory has a beautiful house all for his own. So 
thinks Maudie de la Roche. 

What does a bachelor who smokes want with a draw- 
ing-room all gold and pale blue paneling ? What does a 
bachelor who lives on horseback, or in his cattle-houses, 
know of the luxuries that can all be piled by one pair of 
fair, plump little hands (such as Maudie^s, for instance) 
into the exquisite boudoir she reserves for her own pri- 
vate little love scenes and sorrows and novel reading? 
So thinks Maudie de la Roche, who is very envious of a 
title in general, but of that of Lady Athelhurst in par- 
ticular. 

So also does not think Sir Gregory, as, leaning back- 
ward in his comfortable arm-chair, with his large foot- 
ball-shaped head submerged behind the TimeSj he is 
enjoying a temporary lull between the business of his 
breakfast and his morning gallop. 


IN BA CHE LOR QUAR TERS. 


97 


Sir Gregory is a stubborn bachelor. He persists in 
preferring his low pipe to the exquisite art and blandish- 
ments that the feminine mind can offer, and this morning 
in particular he hugs his lonely state; but then he is 
essentially unamiable. This state of solitary rejoicing 
is produced by a letter which he has teceived this morn- 
ing from Maudie de la Eoche : 

^^Dear Sir Gregory: We are giving an entertain- 
ment,’^ etc., it runs. You must, must, must come !” 

I must, must, must come I Must, must, must I % We 
shall see about that, little Miss Fattie 1 (That is what I 
fear most of her men friends called Miss Maudie.) And 
forthwith the wicked — the hoicked baronet shoots the 
would-be love letter into the cuspidor, then calmly returns 
to the contemplation of the Times, giving the while an 
occasional pat to his favorite cats. Of these, being a 
bachelor, he has two — Larkie and Scotchie, and they en- 
joy their mutton chop every morning with their master, 
whom they rule. When the latter retires behind his 
newspaper, it is the cats’ especial time for enjoyment, 
and this morning they are having their usual boisterous 
sparring match at their master’s feet, who himself actu- 
ally begins shortly to purr with content. And shall fat 
Maudie, the wicked temptress, come in to disturb his 
happiness ? Hever ! 

If Maudie does not come to disturb his dreams, some- 
thing else does in the shape of a greyhound puppy, who 
means no harm, but whose appearance causes, quite un- 
necessarily, a great pit-pat-patting to begin suddenly in 
the gentle feline breasts, whose owners, with angry grin- 
ning jaws, jump among the china and cut-glass arrange- 


98 


HER PLA YTHINGS, MEN. 


ments so copiously covering the breakfast-table^ while 
the bachelor looks calmly on from behind his news- 
paper, and gently remonstrates with the units of his 
menagerie. 

What Sir Gregory next sees is his handsome puppy, 
of whom he is especially fond, trying to follow the 
cats. 

Down, Trevor, down !’^ cries Sir Gregory, the twinkle 
in whose eye tells the pupi)y plainly that his master is 
enjoying the fun. 

Trevor has a gallant heart that is not to be conquered 
by mere cats, and since his master ordains that he shall 
not skip over the table after them, he is determined that 
those cats shall come down to him from their strong- 
hold. 

This end he calmly effects, with a twinkle of mischief 
in his roguish eye, by giving one short sharp jerk to the 
corner of the damask table-cloth, which gives to his pull, 
and next moment comes to the floor, with its litter of 
cats, china, cut-glass, and silver, at the same time bury- 
ing Trevor, like Samson, in the ruins. 

ISText there is a dreadful howl and screech and hiss, 
followed by the rolling about and cracking of china and 
glass on a large scale ; and in the midst of this charivari 
the bachelor baronet stretches his arm calmly and pulls 
the bell almost from its socket. 

Dolan, he says, rather red in the face from anger, 
to the woman who runs hurriedly to answer his call, 

what the d is the use of a house-keeper who does 

nothing but eat her head off in wages and fine feeding ? 
I give you a month’s warning for letting that puppy in 
here. That will teach you, I hope, that my dining-room 


IN BACHELOR QUARTERS. 


99 


is not a kennel. Pick up those things, and you pay for 
everything that is broken P 

With a sullen growl, and an angry dive for the cats 
and the puppy, Mrs. Dolan stoops over the debris of the 
breakfast- table. 

‘^Audit’s all his fault, it is. He should have stopped 
the fight, and not call for a poor helpless woman to do 
everyth ink for him ; but men is such arrogant good-for- 
nothing creatures.” 

The month’s warning did not trouble her in the least. 
She had been six years with Sir Gregory now, and every 
fortnight of it had she received, without fail, the same 
month’s warning. In fact, it was a problem now whether 
she or Sir Gregory ruled at the Manor-house. 

That afternoon, as Sir Gregory was returning from his 
daily gallop, with his thoughts in a fiutter at the remem- 
brance of a certain vision which he has seen but a short 
hour ago, and which rather shakes his allegiance to 
bachelor life, he is surprised to find, as he turns a bend 
in the road, that two horsemen in pink are riding down 
the high-way, only a little way ahead of him. Seeing 
that one of their horses had gone lame, and being a 
keen sportsman, he rides quickly forward to see if he 
can offer aid, as the Manor-house is quite near and 
the village at least four miles distant. 

Upon hearing the sound of horses’ hoofs behind them 
the two strangers turn to meet the new-comer, and there 
is a general murmur of astonishment from all three 
as Sir Gregory rides up. Well, Borradale I Hello, De 
Montford,” he cries, with a genuine ring of pleasure in 
his voice, ‘^how in' the name of goodness did you come 
here, and why, being here, did you not let me know 


100 


HER PLA Y THINGS, MEN. 


your whereabouts ? Don’t you remember that the Manor- 
house is in this neighborhood, and that you have both 
promised to put in a few days there, if ever you were in 
this country? I see that you can’t get much farther 
with that poor beast of yours, Borradale, so, as the 
Manor is close at hand, I must insist on your both put- 
ting up there for the night at least, and when I have 
once got you safe in Liberty Hall, you will find it such 
comfortable quarters you won’t care to move.” 

It’s awfully good of you, old fellow” says Borradale. 

I shall be glad to accept your offer 5 it isn’t much fun 
riding an animal that is dead lame, and we were consult- 
ing just now as to what were best to be done, for we 
can’t possibly get back to Shoreham in this plight.” 

“Well, come on now,” says Sir Gregory, cheerily, I 
will send a man over for your traps in less than two 
hours, and if you want any other inducement, you can 
shoot all day if you like, drive or ride my thorough- 
breds, besides having the chance of seeing some of the 
finest heads of cattle in the shires. The coverts are in 
fine condition just now, and it will be a godsend if you 
two fellows will help me shoot over them during the next 
few days My cook is not to bo despised, and if you are 
as fond of good wine as you used to be (with a sly look 
at De Montford) you will find the Manor cellar equal to 
the occasion. 

“You offer us such a list of good things,” says De 
Montford, gayly, “ there is no resisting you. My only 
surprise is that you have been allowed to enjoy these 
good things unmolested for so long.” 

“ Eh ! what ?” said the baronet, coloring a little un- 
der his friend’s determined gaze. 


IN BACHELOR QUARTERS. 


101 


I mean, is there no fair Lady of the Manor ? or are 
you sure there is not one hidden in this delightful 
retreat ? Has Cupid never troubled you, my dear fellow ? 
or is your heart adamantine, and given wholly to your 
beasts and cattle 

Well, well, all in good time,” replied Sir Gregory, 
sheepishly, but ^^here we are at the house, and now, 
before we go in, I want to show you the stables.” 
Thereupon the three men stroll off in that direction, 
having given the horses to a groom with minute direct- 
tious from his master to bandage and attend to the suf- 
fering animal. 

While visiting stables and cattle sheds the conver- 
sation between the three friends degenerates into a 
genuine masculine gossip, and who will dare to say that 
of the two genders the masculine will not be by far the 
more voluble and searching a gossip than any chatter- 
ing that could be gone through by the feminine crowd 
The conversation having veered from horses to cattle, 
and from these latter to lovely woman, Sir Gregory finds 
himself in a corner. 

You have not yet answered my question,” continued 
He Montford, rather enjoying the baronet’s discomfiture 
on this toific. Now tell me, isn’t there a woman in the 
case F 

Wait until you see her,” says Sir Gregory incau- 
tiously 5 then, having betrayed himself, he coutiuues, in a 
stage whisper, am rather struck just now by a beau- 
tiful and mysterious lady, a widow, I presume, as she 
dresses mostly in black, and lives alone with a beautiful 
young girl for her sole companion. Her name, I find, is 
Mrs. Eldmere, and she has taken the Grange for a year, 


102 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN 


lives there in style, must have money, is a divinely 
lovely woman, and a perfect horsewoman he continues 
warming up to his subject. I tell you, my dear fellows, 
she’s thorough-bred every inch other, and I swear I will 
make her acquaintance, however difficult or improbable 
that may seem. As she and her friend both ride, I am 
looking forward to seeing them with us over grass 
and tallow, and if I can’t make the lady’s acquaintance 

then, somehow, why d it, my name isn’t Gregory 

Athelhurst. 

That’s right, old fellow, go in and win !” cries Eutland 
Borradale with a quiet smile. Young, beautiful, and 
a widow ! what more could any man desire ? and I sup- 
pose, as you have no designs on her pretty friend, one 
of us poor fellows might have a chance there. JS’o wonder 
that you are getting tired of bachelorhood, with such a 
tempting prospect as the handsome widow presents, for 
of course any woman would think twice before she re- 
fused a title . (this is said rather satirically), and if she is 
fond of country life and sport, you will have no difficulty 
in persuading her to a change of name.” 

am growing quite curious to see the fair lady, says 
de Montford, and hope you will manage it while we are 
here.” 

But in the meantime, after Sir Gregory had with great 
pride shown bis friends all the various beauties to be seen 
in the stables and out-houses attached to the Manor, he 
took them both up to the house, quite ready to be intro- 
duced to the good comfortable quarters he had imomisedj 
but alas ! at this early hour in the afternoon he is apj)ar- 
ently not expected home, and he finds that the angry 
Mrs. Dolan reigns supreme to the exclusion of outside 


IJSr BACHELOR QUARTERS. 


103 


authority. The gentlemen are therefore prepared to he 
astonished at nothing, and are not even startled when, 
issuing from the direction of the drawing-room, they 
hear the most lugubrious sounds. 

Thump, thump, thump ! and with the loud pedal well 
down, fall the clumsy fingers of the ambitious Daddy 
Dolan on the keys of Sir Gregory’s grand-piano, and as 
the gentlemen enter the room unseen, she raises her voice 
in a loud, unmusical wail, whose tune is, alas, unrecog- 
nizable ! 

The voice of her master calls her from her dreams of 
bliss rather unfeelingly : 

“ Why don’t you get a sledge-hammer f ’ 

With a scream and a kick which reduces the piano-stool 
to a lowly position among the flowers of the carpet. 
Daddy flies, with her head hidden under her apron, and 
the three gentlemen laugh heartily, though Sir Gregory, 
as he picks up the fallen stool, mutters audibly : “ This 
is what comes of being a bachelor. I am not even mas- 
ter in my own house.” 

Here Mrs. Dolan reappears, and in a very aggrieved and 
dignified voice murmurs, with her hands folded before 
her: 

“ Well, Sir Gregory, what’s for dinner 1” 

Dinner !” cries the baronet, looking as thunderstruck 
as though he never expected to have any that day. 

Yes, sir, dinner,” in a still more aggrieved way. 

“ I thought dinner was cooked long ago.” 

Cooked !” retorts the house-keeper, when no 7tor- 
ders was given, and no one to give ’em.” 

Couldn’t you have given the orders 1” shouts Sir 
Gregory, in a towering temper, or what do you do all 


104 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN-. 


(layF This looks hopeful for Mrs. Dolan, and she tri- 
umphs secretly, but outwardly she wipes away an angry 
tear with the corner of her white apron. 

^^You know very well, sir, that I have resigned /tall 
/tauthority in this ’ouse, since I’m engaged packing to 
leave at your orders next month.” 

Tut, woman ! In the mean time I’m d sure I’m 

not going to do without my dinner every day. So put 
off the i)acking and go about your business, and that 
quickly !” thunders Sir Gregory, knowing in his inmost 
heart that heps, as usual, going to be the loser in the 
argument. 

What do you wish for dinner. Sir Gregory ?” pursues 
the relentless house-keeper. 

Oh, anything,” scornfully; anything that I can 
carve — chops, steaks — and be quick !” for Sir Gregory, 
being portly, remembers to have suffered severely from 
over-exertion on one occasion when he carved a turkey 
for twelve persons, and he thinks it detracts from his 
pleasure in dining to have to mop his brow in the very 
middle of dislocating the drumstick, 

Mrs. Dolan, I think, likewise remembers the occasion 
in question, for later, while a generous dinner is being 
served, there appears on the table before Sir Gregory a 
magnificent bird, something of the description of the 
despised turkey ; and the baronet finds ample reason to 
curse his house keeper for being so clever. 

If I don’t settle that woman !” snarls Sir Gregory. 
I’m hanged if I don’t be married just to get the better 
of her!” And so on, and so on, until he gets actually 
wearied of the hanging business, as applied to Mrs. 
Dolan. 


IN BA CHEL OR QUAR TERS. 


105 


Well, De Moiitford,” cries jolly Sir Gregory late that 
night, as they are retiring after a long evening spent in 
dining copiously, and quaffing of the oldest vintages 
olfered by the Atbelhurst cellar, and that very ap- 
parently to no sparing amount, “ I have your promise to 
bring the earl down for the big meet at Drislehurst, and 
we shall have a royal day, or rather week of it, I hope. 
Borradale there loves pretty women and fine horses as 
well as the best of us, and I am sure he will stay with me 
till then.” 

That, I fear, is impossible,” begins Borradale, but is 
summarily interrupted by his host. 

Tut, man ! you are my prisoner now in these ghostly old 
halls, and as such I declare you to be incapable of decid- 
ing for yourself in any matter to-night. So, until to-mor- 
row, just yield to the inevitable, which at this moment, 
as I see your eyes are blinking, is sleep. I could be an 
all-nighter, but you young ones can’t be expected to 
stand under all I can.” 

Whereat Sir Gregory, on his way to his own particular 
sanctum, endeavors to describe the ever-widening circles 
of a hawk on the wing. 

The last thoughts that present themselves to the minds 
of De Montford and Eutland Borradale, ere in sleep they 
lose all power of unravelling problematical questions, are 
somewhat similar. 

^^This beautiful inconnue of Sir Gregory’s,” thinks the 
former, “ who may she be ? She has rather interested 
me. I declare to heaven I think I’ll stay and solve the 
mystery. It may turn up something to my advantage, 
and it can’t harm me ! Who knows if I might not even 
win an heiress, and that, faith, will be acceptable 5 for if 


106 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


I don’t do that pretty soon I shall have to look up i^’ew 
York, with its own peculiar style of thinking and its 
more peculiar style of marrying. To win a pile here will 
be to save an odious journey, so here goes for it! 

They say she has a husband somewhere 1” The fact 
looks rather important, but it does not have a very 
dampening effect upon De Montford’s resolutions. 'No 
matter,” he thinks 5 she will, no doubt, be willing 
enough to go through the courts if the inducements be 
made sufficiently fetching, or if the thumb-screw be 
applied with sufficient determination 5 and — I think I 
have mastered lovely women before.” 

With a contented expression he falls asleep, and in 
his dreams he has a wealthy heiress at his feet hunger- 
ing for his smiles, which makes him happy. 

IS^ot less interested in the beautiful unknown is Eut* 
land Borradale, but his interest in the matter is more or 
less unselfish, as it springs entirely from a feeling of 
camaraderie towards his host, and an intense appre- 
ciation of the humorous side of the question. He there- 
fore falls asleep promising himself, if he be persuaded to 
make a longer stay with Sir Gregory than had been his 
intention, to witness at least some rather ridiculous and 
spicy love scenes. 


TRACED IN RUBIES, 


107 


CHAPTER XIII. 

TRACED IN RUBIES. 

Next morning, notwithstanding the revel overnight, 
all is bustle at the Manor-house. Sir Gregory has of- 
fered the two young men each a fine mount, and the 
meet being at a distance, they have to make an early 
start j so, after partaking of a hasty breakfast, all three 
ride off in the best possible spirits, anticipating the day’s 
enjoyments. 

But Fortune does not favor them 5 the hounds do noth- 
ing in particular, and after a rather disappointing day 
they find themselv^es leisurely riding homeward about 
three o’clock that same afternoon. They are a some- 
what silent party j the horses are tired and jaded, and 
Sir Gregory is not in the best of tempers, as he had prom- 
ised himself a fine day’s sport, aud looking upon their 
continued ill luck as a great want of consideration on the 
part of Providence, he is greatly disgusted at their non- 
success. 

As they ride onward, the country begins to look fa- 
miliar, and at last they reach a low stone wall that borders 
the Grange estate. Here Rutland Borradale falls a little 
behind his companions and allows them to get several 
paces ahead j he is riding in a listless kind of way 5 his 
face looks dark and sad ; perhaps thoughts are running 
ill his mind of a day long ago when he had hoped all 
things of woman’s love, aud had seen his hopes wrecked. 


108 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


As he and his companions proceed, however, the 
country grows to look a little more like home, and this 
rather cheers the riders, as, man-like, they promise them- 
selves something warmly comforting when they shall 
leave their saddles. 

As they find themselves passing along under the 
shadow of the Grange walls, from which to the Manor- 
house is but a step— otherwise a quarter of a mile— they 
are startled at sight of the lithe form of a greyhound 
which, leaping from behind to the top of the Grange 
wall, lands on the road near them, as graceful and light 
as a feather wafted by summer winds. Rutland Borra- 
dale’s eyes followed the retreating form of the handsome 
hound rather indifferently; while the dusky shadows 
thrown by the trees, interweaving overhead, i)revented 
him from observing the dog^s points more fully as the 
latter disappeared over a neighboring fence, to reap- 
pear, however, lower down. Here the hound stands 
revealed in a full burst of sunshine, and Rutland Bor- 
radale, as he spurs his horse forward, is observed by his 
companions to change color. 

‘‘ Whose is he P cried Borradale, disconnectedly 
(apropos to them of nothing). Whose? I do not 
think. I think some — No, 1 think — 

Here sir Gregory breaks in with ^‘Ho you often think 
aloud, my dear fellow, in such disconnected language 
which remark has the effect of making Borradale subdue 
some powerful emotion, which has come near mastering 
him ; and with a light remark he turns the tables on 
his opponent. 

‘‘ My incoherency was owing to an eagerness on your 
account. Is not that your adored one^s hound ?” 


TRACED IN RUBIES. 


109 


Why, so it must be,” cries the barouet in astonish- 
ment, noticing the dog for the first time. 

And therefore the object of your courtly admiration 
cannot be far away.” 

By Jove ! if you aren^t right.” And here Sir 
Gregory, with a heart that seems to go up and down 
like a field of mangold-wurzel in autumn, with a bump 
here, and a hollow there, and all turned higgledy-pig- 
gledy, proceeds to do some earnest prowling for the 
longed-for sight of a gate cut in the Grange wall, but 
none appearing, he turns by way of pastime to watch 
the hound, snuffing among the fallen dried leaves, prob- 
ably for a hedgehog (ladies^ dogs are good for rooting 
out pig-headed little hedgehogs and making a fuss 
about it). Then Kutland Borradale, gently pressing 
spurs to his horse^s sides, proceeds calmly on his home- 
ward way, but not without having first whistled to the 
hound, calling him by name in a masterful voice: 

^^Lion! Lion! to heel, sir!” 

Suddenly the dog, to the astonishment of Sir Gregory 
and De Montford, lifts his noble crest, pricks up his ears, 
and in the flash of a thought has passed them with a 
loud yelp, and has thrown himself madly upon Eutland 
Borradale. Astonishment is succeeded in their minds 
by fear for their friend’s safety, as the only explanation 
to them of the matter is rabies in the dog ! but soon, 
however, they find that the gallant hound is covering 
Borradale with canine caresses, licking his hands, toes, 
leathers, cords, everything, with an occasional little yelp 
of delight, even rubbing the clay and leaves oft* his own 
nose onto that of the gentleman. 

Quiet, Lion ! quiet, old fellov^P mutters Borradale, 


110 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


and seeing that he has turned a bend in the road, which 
hides him from his companions, he lowers his head over 
that of the hound and examines the dog^s collar. This 
is a beautifully elaborate piece of workmanship, bearing 
the mythical inscription that he has seen somewhere 
often before, executed in tiny diamond chips, With my 
heart forever !” . 

He reads still further, something that makes his lips 
quiver, it is the word wrought in glittering red stones, 
“ Never 

Elra ! Elra ! she loves me still, she will not dare deny 
it,” and unclasping the rich collar which opens only to 
the pressure of a secret spring, he gives the dog a tender, 
long, maudlin hug, and then, sitting erect once more in 
his saddle, after having placed the collar in safety, some- 
where about the region of his waistcoat, looks as emo- 
tionless as though his heart was not throbbing in wildest 
rebellion against his breast-pocket. 

Hello, Bor. ! we thought you were home by now,” 
says Sir Gregory. Sly dog, who knows all about the 
lady of the Grange, and won^t tell others who might 
like to know. Well, well !” he continues, putting spurs 
to his horse, “wedl get square j but first we must dine side 
by side, to show there’s no ill feeling, you know !” and he 
gives a knowing wink, which Borradale does not ap- 
preciate, and ill reply to which he denies all knowledge 
about Mrs. Eld mere, although the hound, he maintains, 
is one he has once sold at a very high price to a dog 
fancier, previous to starting for a tour on the European 
continent. A silvery whistle interrupts the knowing 
laugh with which Bir Gregory answers this yarn,” as 
he terms it, and at the words ^‘Qet back there, hound,” 


TRACED IN RUBIES. 


Ill 


from Borradale, tlie dog skims lightly over the high 
moss-growu wall back again into the Grange meadows. 
There he is greeted by a little murmur of delight from 
his mistress, and a little cry of astonishment from her 
companion, Topsie. 

“ Why, what iias become of his collar?’^ cries Mrs. 
Eldmere in dismay. ‘^Oh, it could not have been a 
tramp who stole it! he would never find the secret 
spring. Who could it be I remember but one who 
ever knew the secret, and he — ” 

Oh, Elra, that lovely collar I” says Topsie, regretfully, 
I always knew it would be stolen some day ! the only 
thing you can do is to offer a very large reward for its 
recovery — 

Perhaps ! I don’t know,” is Mrs. Eldmere’s answer to 
her friend’s amazement, but the latter cannot hear the 
muttered words, “ If only it were he !” 

Elra, dearest, I have an idea !” cries Topsie suddenly, 
as they are walking slowly back to the house followed 
by Lion. Let us go down to old Peter’s cottage and 
tell him about your loss 5 he is crazy enough sometimes, 
I think, but he might make inquiries in the village for 
us, and I know that he will do anything for you or me.” 

It’s not a bad idea,” said Mrs. Eldmere thoughtfully ; 
^^let us go across the fields 5 the sooner something is 
done the more chance there is of finding the collar, and 
old Peter knows all the country folks for miles around. 
Come, Lion, we will take you with usj” and turning 
briskly in the opposite direction the two ladies are soon 
out of sight across the fields on their way to old Peter’s 
cottage. 

This individual being somewhat of a character, de- 


112 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN 


serves a few words of introduction^ which are here 
given : 

Peter Long had been one of the old family retainers 
in the house of Eavenstone during two generations. He 
had seen the old marquis grow up and die, to be suc- 
ceeded by his son, the present owner of the title j and old 
Peter, as huntsman to the Marquis of Eipdale, considered 
himself as much x^art and parcel of the family as the 
gloomy old mansion-house of Eavenstone itself. He had 
lived there, man and boy, for over fifty years, and could 
as little bear transplanting as any of the sturdy old oaks 
ux^on the place. So that when the x^resent marquis, a 
man of fast life and dissolute habits, came to his own, 
and Peter found himself curtly dismissed, he obstinately 
refused to leave, and gave the marquis to understand 
that he intended to live and die in his old home at Eaven- 
stone. This obstinacy so incensed his iiew master that 
he gave peremx)tory orders for the old man’s removal, 
and old Peter was turned out bag and baggage, no one 
daring to oppose the cruel power of the proud and 
haughty marquis. This blow nearly broke old Peter’s 
heart, and for a time it seemed as if his mind was weak- 
ened, but he had some kind friends left, and by their help 
he was established in a little cottage in the woods, 
where he now lived on the small xhttance allowed him 
by the ladies of Eavenstone, who, though they were 
XJOwerless to prevent his dismissal, contrived to assist the 
poor old fellow unknown to their brother. Peter’s hut, 
or cottage, stood in the midst of the woods, and often 
the x^assers-by could hear him cheering on the dogs, imi- 
tating the bugle call, with loud cries of Tally-ho! tally- 
ho !” as he roamed through the woods, for in his crazy 


TRACED IN RUBIES. 


113 


moods lie was once more the gallant hardy huntsman of 
former days, and the sound of a horse^s hoof or the bark 
of a dog would often be enough to rouse him when 
nothing else would. Topsie had known old Peter from 
her childhood, and she it was who had done the most for 
him in his lonely exile. He would never want while she 
could help him, and Peter loved the very ground his dear 
missie (as he called her) trod on. Twice in her life had 
he been at hand to save her from great jieril : once as a 
child, w^hen riding, he had caught her from the saddle as 
her pony, mad with fright, had leaped into the quarry be- 
low ; and again, when the doors of her own home had been 
closed to her, she had crept to old Peter’s cottage and 
passed two days in hiding there 5 so that Topsie’s love 
for the poor crazy fellow was only equalled by her pity 
for his lonely condition and wrecked life. 

Mrs. Eldmere and Topsie, meanwhile, had crossed the 
fields and were entering a little glade in the woods, which 
now stood in the budding beauty of approaching spring. 
It was carpeted with moss, greener than emerald and 
softer than velvet, and the faint sweet perfume of violets 
mingled with the soft breath of a light breeze which 
played around them, rufSing the plumes of Mrs. Eld- 
mere’s dainty hat and tossing the red-gold locks of the 
young girl into still more picturesque confusion. 

Hunting will soon he over,” said Topsie with a sigh, as 
she drew a long breath of the fragrant perfume which now 
filled the air. I always remember how Peter hated the 
violets when they came, and I never could bring him 
to admit any beauty in flowers. ‘ Drat them vilets !’ 
was his usual repl}- j ‘ they spoils the scent for us, and 
that’s all I care about.’ However, it’s a good thing there 


114 


HER PLA Y THINGS, MEN. 


^ won’t be much more hard riding, for Irish King is getting 
very tender on his forefeet, and I am afraid he won’t be 
good for much after this year.” 

“ That reminds me, dearest,” says Elra with a loving 
smile, I never told you that I was negotiating for anew 
horse for you. Such a fearless rider needs a better mount 
than the poor old King, and I mean you to have a steed 
worthy of your equestrian powers.” 

Oh, Elra I” you darling,” cries the girl, impulsively 
throwing her arms round her companion’s neck and giv- 
ing her a fond kiss. How good of you to think of it ; 
but i^lease don’t buy the horse now j it would only be 
idle, eating its head off in the stable all summer, and the 
King carries me beautifully in our country rides ; he is 
only found wanting on the hard dusty road.” 

Well, we will see,” is Mrs. Eldmere’s answer. I 
haven’t heard of a suitable animal yet, so it may be best 
to wait, as you suggest, though I will tell Kobert to keep 
his eyes open, and if he hears of a lady’s hunter being 
for sale to let me know of it.” 

They found old Peter in, and after fully explaining the 
lost collar to him Topsie said : 

Kow, Peter, this collar must be found, and if any of 
the villagers know anything about it I am sure we can 
trust you to find it out.” 

That ye can, missie,” says the old man with a chuckle 
of delight. ^‘I’m spry enough still, and if that there 
dog’s collar has been stole by any one as lives within 
ten miles o’ here, I’m bound to hear about it. You trust 
me, missie ; they all thinks I’m daft, and takes no care what 
they says afore me, so I’ll just go down and have a mug 
of ale at the Hare and Hounds, where I’ll likely hear all 
ye want to know.” 


TRACED IN RUBIES. 


115 


That’s right, Peter 5 we knew you would help us ; 
here’s the money for the ale, but mind you don’t stay too 
long or drink too much 3” and with this injunction the 
ladies left him and returned to the Grange by the same 
way as they had come. As they reached the house 
Mrs. Eldmere said : We had better renew our search 
now, Topsie — I am so determined to find that missing 
link 3” and they go up to an old lumber-room and are 
soon i)ouring over a collection of dust-begrimed papers 
which lie hidden in the depths of a worm-eaten oaken 
chest. 



116 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

LION FINDS A MASTER. 

Yes, there is no denying it, life at the Grange is 
dull, very dull, and its quietude is beginning to tell on 
Mrs. Eldmere, though she scarcely dares to admit it, 
even to herself. But to-day, somehow, the ghost of the 
past has risen from its grave, and, sitting there in her 
quiet boudoir, with hands idly folded and eyes gazing 
listlessly out on the lovely glowing landscape, which 
seems but to mock her with its brightness, Mrs. Eldmere 
thinks of those happy days now past and gone. As the 
lovely American heiress, who had there been so courted 
and flattered as she, when in the zenith of her girlish 
beauty she had queened it at ball and reception — when 
her name was upon every lip, and the homage of every 
man was laid at her feet % Society had chosen her for 
queen, and for two happy years she had reigned ; her 
life had been full of gayety and brightness j now all was 
changed, and she felt herself left lonely and deserted, 
though in burying herself at the Grange she had volun- 
tarily cut herself off from all society, aud her hiding- 
ifface was even now unknown to many of her friends. 

^^It is not only for myself,” she says, as she rises and 
impatiently paces the floor of her pretty room. That 
poor child who shares my exile 5 what must this dull life 
mean to her ? I was wrong to let her come, and though 
I doubt not her love and fidelity to me, I must not suffer 
her sacrifice to be too irksome. 


./ON FINDS A MASTER. 


317 


Life,” she continues plaintively, “ is a sorry problem. 
Yesterday a reigning queen; to-day a solitary, despised 
hermit. But, oh I better so. Better to live alone and die 
unnoticed than to count hours of lingering torture by the 
side of Murray Cresenworth. 

(For Mrs. Eldmere, the lady of the Grange, is indeed 
Elra Cresenworth — who, having vainly tried to yield 
loving allegiance to her adoring husband, has at last tiled 
from him in despair, and buried herself in the loneliest 
little nook in Sussex, hoping that her lord and master 
may never see her again.) 

“ After all, the human heart grows accustomed to 
changes, and I shall live my sorrow down, I suppose. 
Things might be infinitely worse, for I have Topsie, with 
her glorious intelligence and her darling gentle ways. 

(As she is speaking, a clock in the room strikes eleven 
with silvery tones, and Mrs. Eldmere starts with a cry 
of surprise.) 

How late already ; and we are to ride this morning.” 

So, hastily gathering up some letters which lie open on 
the table before her, she turns and leaves the room to 
don her hat and habit. 

Half an hour later finds her standing in the hall, whip 
in hand and with a smile on her face, for as she knows 
the sharp eyes of Miss Topsie would quickly search her 
soul, she is determined to hide, even from her, the un- 
satisfied longings and vain regrets that she has lately 
indulged in. 

Come, Topsie dear, aren’t you ready F she cries to 
her young companion (who was in herself somewhat of a 
mystery to the people about, being known as Topsie to 
all her friends, and apparently possessing no surname by 


118 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


which to distinguish her). “ It will be a glorious morning 
for a ride, and Irish King is getting so impatient.” 

Coming ! coming!” cries a fresh young voice, and Miss 
Topsie apx)cars, clad in a smart, well-fitting habit and 
jaunty hat, from under whose brim her bright, dark eyes 
glance mischievously, and, with a smile that shows every 
one of her brilliant white teeth, the young lady runs 
down the steps to fondle her horse and give him his ac- 
customed lumf) of sugar. 

‘‘ You will spoil the king,” says Mrs. Eldmere smiling, 
“ and you should always give him his reward when the 
ride is over, not before the start.” 

‘‘That’s just where I don’t agree with you,” says Top- 
sie, brightly. “‘Duty first and pleasure after’ is a 
stupid saying. I make it pleasure first. Perchance a'pr^s 
one may have to do the duty, but I always get out of it 
if I can.” 

“ Well, where shall we go?” says Mrs. Eldmere when 
they were both mounted and indulging in a preparatory 
canter down the avenue with Lion at the horses’ heels. 

“ Let’s go round by Ohanconbury King, and see if the 
fairies have finished their revels. You know they always 
have a good time at midsummer, at least the story-books 
tell us that, and I would dearly like to have my three 
wishes fulfilled.” 

“Well, what do you wish for, dear?” says her com- 
panion, amused at the girlish chatter. 

“First, a pair of wings, which would fly with me 
wherever I wished to roam ; a purse like that of Fortu- 
natus, never empty j and last, but not least, to be a bril- 
liant financier or statesman with the world at my feet. 
I am restless, ambitious, extravagant, and these three 


LION FINDS A MASTER. 


119 


longings would then be gratified, l^ow what do you 
want, ElraF 

Oh, I !” said Mrs. Eldmere, with a start and change 
of color. I want to find Lion at present. Do you see 
him, Topsie ? He has missed us, I fear.” 

Why there he is!” she cried, pointing to a solitary 
horseman in the field ahead of the riders, towards whose 
knee the dog was leaping with spasmodic efforts. There 
is Lion springing on that man. Can he be going to 
attack him ? What can be the matter ? Why, he is 
caressing Lion !” 

You must be mistaken, Topsie,” said Mrs. Eldmere, 
growing suddenly pale, “Lion has never sufiered any 
one to caress him but one man, and he — It cannot be.” 
Hastily crossing the fence they came up closer to the 
horseman, who did not even turn in his saddle, but acted 
as if he were totally unaware of their presence. Elra 
called Lion to her side, but for once he did not respond, 
and remained gazing up at the rider, his very beautiful 
head almost touching the tips of the gentlemaffs patent 
leather boots. 

And now Topsie receives somewhat of a shock as she 
concludes that the man before them is a total stranger, 
if she might judge by the greeting he received ; yet, on 
glancing at Mrs. Eldmere, she sees her trembling with 
vexation or some other indefinable emotion. 

But here the gentleman, at whose knee Lion persists 
in trotting, wheels his horse round, giving Mrs. Eldmere 
room to pass. They exchange a long, steady look, charg- 
ed with defiance on both sides ; a deep, dangerous glance, 
which stirs their very souls and bridges over many a 
weary month, and which, in its very intensity of pain, is 


120 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


intensity of keenest pleasure, but passing, it leaves the 
lady looking very haughty and unsubdued as she ad- 
vances with an almost imperceptible acknowledgment of 
his salutation, and does not even offer to call Lion to her 
side. But Borradale, for it was he, with fully as haughty 
a glance, watches their retreating figures with some mut- 
tered words, the spelling of which would be very difficult 
to accomplish. 

He remains, apparently rooted to the ground, in the 
middle of the field, like some old statue of some older 
king, transported there to frighten the preying rooks, 
until he catches a glimpse of one of the ladies’ skirts flut- 
tering to the ground. 

She has descended, ostensibly, to unbar a five-rail 
gate, but she seems to find it so pleasant on the soft 
mosses that carpet the banks fringed with blackthorn 
that she has suffered herself to sink down among the 
golden kingcups and mosses, and seems to think she is 
going to remain there. A few powerful strides brings 
Rutland Borradale’s horse alongside, and then he sees 
it is Mrs. Eldmere, who, with the tears of mortification 
and anger frozen in her eyes, and with a face colorless as 
her kerchief, has sunk down pale and trembling as the 
aspen in the breeze. Topsie is beside her in a moment, 
and offers remedies none of them half so effectual as the 
reappearance of the (to her) strange gentleman on the 
scene. 

What secret misery is the cause of this emotion f’ 
thinks Topsie, with a sad shake of her wise little head 5 
“ 1 have never seen her ruffled yet.” 

As Mr. Borradale looks at her something soft and pity- 
ing creeps into his eyes and he says a few gentle words, 


LION FINDS A MASTER. 


121 


whicli, however, do not seem to have at all the desired 
effect. Elra thinks she hears a triumphant ring in his 
voice, and hastily rising, with proudly erect head, she 
springs into the saddle, disdaining his proffered help 
and taking that of Topsie. “ Come, Lion she says, 
commandingly, but Lion lingers by Borradale. 

He has had a master before he acknowledged a mis- 
tress,’^ murmurs the young man, with a challenge in his 
eyes and voice. 

Then he can still lick the hand of the master, and 
bend to his sovereign rule, for no mistress wilt whistle 
for him again !” 

Mrs. Murray Cresenworth is mistaken if she thinks 
that Eutland Borradale reclaims that which he has once 
given, be it so insignificant a gift as that of a dog, or 
even that of his own heart’s affection. He never takes 
back what he has once given !” 

Entirely calm he stood there as those quietly spoken 
words, surcharged with i^ainful meaning, fell from his 
lips, and with one quick, frightened look she turned 
away — not, however, before a little telltale quiver, one 
rapid, rebellious heaving of her bosom, had given him 
the answer that he sought. In a moment more her met- 
tlesome horse, having felt the sharp sting of her tiny 
spur, springs away over the heathery fields, bearing a 
mistress whose form is very light and supple, but whose 
heart is strangely heavy, and will be so for many a day 
to come. When they reach the Grange Topsie notices 
the cloud on Elra’s brow, and sees what she thinks looks 
like great tears standing in her eyes ; so, subduing her 
natural curiosity about their late encounter, she chatters 
gayly till they reach the house, when Mrs. Eldmere, 


122 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


pleading lieadache and indisposition, retired to her own 
room, and was not again visible till dinner-time that 
evening. 

Oh dear, what can the matter be F sighs the girl, as 
she takes up a favorite novel after her solitary lunch 
and throws herself down for a quiet read, “ I would give 
a great deal to know who and what Lion^s master may 
be, and what he has to do with Elra, I hate mysterious 
men and she sighs again. 



SIR GREGORY AT THE GRANGE. 


123 


CHAPTER XY. 

SIR GREGORY AT THE GRANGE. 

That same eveuing, had we chanced to turn in at the 
Grange^ we might have seen that Sir Gregory has at 
last effected his entry between the tower gates of its 
avenue^ and has been bold and fortunate enough even 
to penetrate to its divinely appointed little drawing- 
room. But once there, to his bitter chagrin be it said, 
he finds that the object of his intensest interest is gone 
out; or more likely. Sir Gregory thinks, is in her own 
sweet little boudoir, but won’t be worried out by him. 

He therefore keeps a careful eye on the door- way, to 
cut off her chance of passing it unobserved, while he 
settles himself to the task of charming Miss Topsie, 
whom he has surprised over a volume of Erchmann- 
Ohatrain, and who now finds herself in for a dismal in- 
terview, So glad to make your acquaintance,” says the 
baronet, blandly smiling, and advancing to shake hands 
with his victim. Such charming ladies and good horse- 
women are an acquisition in a country place like this.” 

What do you know about our riding. Sir Gregory*?” 
says Topsie, mischievously; “ I am not aware that you 
have ever seen us, except at a great distance.” (Mrs. 
Eldmere and Topsie had on more than one occasion sur- 
prised Sir Gregory in hiding behind a tree or fence to 
watch them as they rode past, and Topsie had often 


124 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN, 


joked her friend on the supposed passion of the baronet 
for the fair lady of the Grange. 

There is one thing in which I should like to claim 
your help,” she continued, calmly, “ and as you are one 
of the magnates of the place, you can doubtless be of 
great assistance.” 

‘^Delighted, I am sure,” smiles the gentleman urbanely, 

to be of any assistance to the lovely Mrs. Eldmere and 
her beautiful friend j” this is said with a low bow, hand 
on heart, and with a would-be killing glance, that looks 
more like a leer. 

“ Well, Sir Gregory, I will tell you we have been 
lately much annoyed during our rides, even walks, by 
the movements of a mysterious man, who evidently 
wishes to shadow us ; for we have seen him crouching 
down behind fences, and hiding behind trees, as we 
have passed, and though we have never actually caught 
sight of his face, we are becoming alarmed by his per- 
sistently following us; Mrs. Eldmere has even grave 
thoughts of employing a detective to watch the man, 
and find out if he is only a harmless idiot or a dangerous 
lunatic, in which latter case it would be better to im- 
prison him at once or deprive him of his liberty. 

Sir Gregory’s face had been a study during this re- 
cital, turning from red to crimson, and the desperate 
efforts he made to appear a calm and interested listener 
delighted Topsie’s wicked little heart. 

Hum ! You say you have never seen his face, my 
dear young lady?” he asked, taking out his handker- 
chief and mopping his brow with the same, while he 
fidgeted on his chair and cast a look of deep anxiety on 
his tormentor. 


SIR GREGOR Y AT THE GRANGE. 


125 


Sir Gregory,” says Topsie, sweetly, but I am 
suie I should know him again. He is tall and stout — a 
man about your own size, I should say.” 

Oh, indeed ; about my own size,” says the baronet, 
growing, if possible, more crimson than before. ^^You 
don’t say so! Why, how unaccountable,” Sir Gregory 
laughs, or rather tries to ; while Topsie is delighted to 
indulge in a little burst of merriment on her own ac- 
count. 

“Well, well, it’s too bad ! something must be done 5 I 
will look into the matter myself,” says Sir Gregory, pom- 
pously, and then the conversation languishes, while the 
young Iad3' disappears into the recesses of a bow-window. 

“ Why, here comes Maudie de la Eoche,” cries Topsie, 
in a tone of joy, eying the baronet with a sidelong glance 
that means more mischief. “ She is coming up the 
avenue. How fortunate! She aud you get along so 
well together, Sir Gregory.” Here she sees his face 
grow a shade paler and his eyes darken, while cautiously, 
aud with the defiant look of one driven to bay, he draws 
two corks from his i)Ockets, a la Mike Dolan. These, 
on Maudie’s entrance, he places in his ears, and then re- 
tires comfortably into the recesses of his arm-chair, feel- 
ing safe. 

Maudie’s garrulous tongue is in glorious form, aud, 
conscious of tbe advantage of her jiosition, she rattles 
on to 8ir Gregory about her fat dog, her fat pony, and 
her fat self. 

Stealing a glance round she finds that Topsie has glided 
from the room, and, seeing an encouraging smile on the 
baronet’s face, she deems that a little dash of the senti- 
mental will not come amiss. 


12G 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


It’s such a long, long time since I saw you last, Sir 
Gregory, she begins. I have been quite ill lately with a 
cold and sore throat and haven’t dared to go out! But 
perhaps you did not know of it f ’ 

Delighted to hear it,” says the baronet with a bow 
and wave of his hand. 

Maudie thinks the answer strange, but is not yet sub- 
dued. 

^^Why didn’t you answer my letter!” she says, im- 
ploringly, I waited so patiently for an answer, just one 
tiny word 1” reproachfully. 

Bless me, I give it up,” he cries testily, its no good 
asking me for the word, I never could guess a riddle !” 
Then seeing Maudie’s astonished face, and imagining that 
his reply had not been satisfactory, he added, Of course 
not, I never intended to, I thought I told you that some 
time ago. A man in my position cannot afford to take 
part in amateur theatricals, and, besides, I’m no actor.” 

I don’t think you are listening to what I say, cries 
Maudie rather angrilyj can you hear me speaking !” 

Yes, yes, I quite agree with you j I am sure you are 
right.” 

But what are those things in your ears % how 
can you hear me with those there ! But perhaps you 
don’t!” 

These questions have broken from Maudie in quick 
gasps, and in another moment, realizing the position, 
she draws herself up grandly, stretches out her hand to 
him in a dignified and freezing good-bye, and sails from 
the room. 

As soon as Maudie is well out of sight Sir Gregory 
rises from his chair, and taking the corks from his ears 


SI/^ GREGORY AT THE GRANGE. 


127 


restores them to his pocket with a satisfied air of triumph 
— for once he has got the better of his bete noire. Miss 
Maudie de la Koche. 

Ill another moment Topsie reappears and looks greatly 
surprised to find him still there. 

I thought you would have escorted Miss de la Eoche 
home,” she says, knowing what friends you are j it was 
very unkind of you not to do so.” 

I could not leave before I had seen you again, he says 
gallantly, and you are greatly mistaken if you think Miss 
Maudie and I are on such friendly terms.” 

^‘Oh, come!” says Topsie, archly, won’t allow you 
to say one word against her, I know you were longing to 
accompany her when she went, and if you go at once, 
you will soon catch her up, for she doesn’t walk very 
fast!” 

“ Ho, indeed, I could not think of it. I must stay 
and see Mrs. Eldmere. 1 have an important project—” 

^^Oh, then, if you wish it,” retorts Topsie, certainly; 
stay as long as you like ! you are most welcome ! 
But I must run away from you for a short time. 
Make yourself quite at home in my absence, and 
in case you wish to leave, there is the door ! in case you 
think of staying all night, there — is the door-mat for you 
to lie across !” 

But not even this little ruse of Topsie’s would have 
gotten rid of the baronet, had not something rather un- 
accustomed happened just at that moment. 

This was the appearance of a young man on the car- 
riage sweep, leading a horse, and dragging in his hand 
the tire of a wheel of the dog-cart to which the horse 
was harnessed. 


128 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


There must have been an accident somewhere/^ says 
Sir Gregory, watching the new-comer with great interest. 
A card is next moment brought in by the servant, and 
Topsie, catching sight of some number, and Fifth 
Avenue,’^ in one little corner, she waits no longer, but 
dashes off in i)ursuit of Mrs. Eldmere, who turns pale on 
seeing the card 5 and then a bright color suffuses her 
face, with a strange hope dawning in her eyes. 

He is a friend 5 he will be kind,^^ she murmurs, and 
forthwith descends the stair-way to bid her guest wel- 
come. 

In the drawing-room she finds a young man, tall and 
debonair, talking gayly with Topsie, whom he seems 
to have taken very kindly to, notwithstanding the freez- 
ing little air that this young lady seems to keep in store 
for strange young men. 

An American has a strange propensity for ices of all 
kinds, and Eoanwood Offington did not think the ice in 
question, flavored as it was by rose-leaf lips, very terri- 
fying. Even an iceberg may melt, and Topsie certainly 
did. 

“I am afraid you will think my presumption very 
great,’^ says the gentleman, as, hat in hand, he is 
ushered into the room 5 but I hope that my appearance 
here will justify itself. My carriage broke down just 
outside your gates, and being a stranger here, and not 
seeing any other residence in view, I was bold enough to 
enter, feeling sure that English hospitality would not 
refuse to help a stranger and a foreigner in distress. I 
was told that the house was occupied by a Mrs. Eldmere. 
Have I the pleasure of speaking to that lady with an 
inqiring bow. 


SII^ GREGORY AT THE GRANGE. 


129 


“No, sir/^ says Topsie, demurely, “I am ouly lier 
friend, but as Mrs. Eldmere is herself au American, lam 
sure she will be glad to see you. I sent her your card, 
and she will doubtless soon be here. In the mean time, 
jdease consider yourself among friends, and allow me 
to give you a cup of tea.’^ 

“No, thanks. Miss— er — ” 

“ Topsie,^’ she says, abruptly. 

“ Miss Topsie,’^ he continued, with an almost percept- 
ible smile, “I never indulge in that beverage.’^ 

“ Oh, then you haven’t been in England long,” cries 
the young lady. “ It’s quite English to love tea and 
scandal — the two always seem to go together j but I dare 
say you are not too fond of the English, and Americans, 
being a superior people, are above those little weak- 
nesses !” 

“ There you do me great injustice. Miss Topsie,” replies 
Mr. Offington, “though I have hardly been long enough 
in England to appreciate its hospitality and its many 
beauties — as I shall do after to-day,” he adds, with a 
meaning glance. 

Upon the entrance of Mrs. Eldmere a sudden change 
comes over the face of Eoanwood Offington, and with a 
cry of mingled surprise and pleasure he comes forward 
with out-stretched hands. 

“ Mrs. Murray Cresenworth,” he says — “ what an un- 
expected pleasure ! They told me a Mrs. Eldpiere lived 
here.” 

“ And they were right — you are now speaking to that 
lady. There was no mistake. I am Mrs. Eldmere,” with 
a glance at the young man’s face that seems to command 
or entreat his silence. Then turning to Sir Gregory with 


330 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


a gracious smile aud a few words of welcome which re- 
duce the inflammable baronet to a state of exquisite de- 
light, she explains: ^^Mr. Offington is an old friend,’^ 
and upon her introducing the two men the conversation 
becomes general. 

What an unexpected pleasure to see you again ! 
says the hostess to Mr. Oflington (who has not yet re- 
covered from his surprise, but gives no sign of the same). 
“ It must be quite a lucky accident that has brought you 
so near us.” 

A very fortunate one for me ” (with a glance at Top- 
sie). ‘‘The Grange must be a kind of loadstone ; and 
who can wonder at it, considering the many attractions 
it contains F 

“You need not compare us to stones, Mr. Offington,” 
says Topsie with a delicious pout. 

“ No, indeed,” says the baronet, gallantly coming to 
the rescue ; for in his present state of beatitude, which 
he has so little anticipated, he is ready to champion all 
the fair sex. “ Beauty is always attractive, and when 
Mrs. Eldmere and Miss Topsie are the ladies in question, 
every man must fall and worship at their shrine.” 

“How poetical you are. Sir Gregory,” says Mrs. Eld- 
mere, with a smile, while Topsie sends Mr. Offington a 
coquettish glance, which is fully appreciated by that 
young man. 

“ In this case Sir Gregory's sentiments are all my 
own,” he cries 5 “ only, not being poetical, I cannot do 
the subject justice.” 

“Hear, hear!” cries Topsie, gayly, quoting: “‘And 
Beauty draws us with a single hair.’ Do you think a 
woman’s beauty is her hair ?” 


SIR GREGOR Y AT THE GRANGE, 


131 


Very often.” 

Then you are all beautiful,” breaks in the baronet. 

Yes, indeed,” says Topsie, demurely. I have a 
large share of beauty — but it is in my trunk ; it was 
cut off last June !” 

Here there is a faint smile of appreciation on Koau- 
wood Offington’s face, and Topsie feels his magnetic 
eyes searching hers. Mrs. Eldmere, who has been more 
or less restless during the conversation, has risen from 
her chair and is standing at the other end of the long 
room. Suddenly she turns and beckons Mr. Offington 
to her side. 

I want to show you these,” she says, pointing to a 
group of photographs on a table. “You have been in 
Home, I know, and I was never quite decided as to what 
this picture may be.” Mr. Offington joins her — and 
Topsie, who is watching them from the corner of her 
eye, while she vainly endeavors to converse with Sir 
Gregory, sees that the photograph was only a subter- 
fuge. Mrs. Eldmere and Mr. Offington have never even 
pretended to look at it ; but, after an earnest whispered 
conversation between the two, Mr. Offington turns to 
Sir Gregory and proposes that he shall drive him over, 
as the Manor-house will be on his way homeward. The 
hospitable baronet is highly delighted with this sugges- 
tion, being already in a convivial mood. He prox)Oses 
that they shall make a night of it together at the Manor- 
house. JS'othing loath, Mr. Eoanwood Offington accepts 
with pleasure, and with many adieus to the ladies they 
get into Sir Gregory's cart and drive offi 

“ By Jove ! Til go to little ^ Miss Fattie^s,’ after all,” says 
the baronet as they sweep under the tower gates. “ Vd 


132 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


go through fire to see that widow again. What do you 
say, Offiugton ? Do you think she will have mein the 
end ? Some women, I kuow, like a long courtship 5 but, 
come and judge of matters for yourself at Miss Maudie^s 
afternoon party to morrow.” 

Can’t, my dear fellow, so I will only wish you every 
success in the matter,” says Offiiigton, with something 
like deviltry in his eye, and I hope you will let me 
know when the happy event is to take place.” 

‘^You seem to look upon it as matter of certainty,” 
says Sir Gregory with rather a grewsome face, and there 
the subject drops. 



MA UDIE FLA VS J/OSTESS. 


133 


OHAPTEE XVI. 

MAUDIE PLAYS HOSTESS. 

Maudie de la Eoche is iu her element, and as she 
bustles about the room her mother sits watching her 
with secret admiration and conscious pride. The “ Xest ’’ 
has on its most festive appearance, all the rooms are 
decorated with a wealth of flowers, and Miss Maudie’s 
fat little flgure trots from place to place i)utting last 
touches, giving occasional directions to the bewildered 
maid, and trying in vain to impress the button-boy or 
small page with the solemnity and importance of the 
occasion, for Miss de la Eoche has a garden party to- 
day which she hopes will be honored by the beauty and 
fashion of the neighborhood. 

Yoila mon enfant ; repose toi maintenant,” mur- 
murs Madame from her chair of state j it is all perfect! 
and you will be so hot, so tired.^^ 

Yes, I think it is all in readiness now,’^ says Maudie, 
looking round the pretty room with conscious pride; 

I only hope^ Anatole will announce the people prop- 
erly.” (Anatole being the name at present inflicted 
upon the luckless youth who is told off to answer the 
door.) 

<<How do you like my dress, maman!” she continues, 
sinking into a low comfortable chair near her mother ; 
<‘the dear marchioness advised it, and I really think 
it is quite a success !” 


134 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


The gown in question is composed of bright blue silk 
much frilled and furbelowed, while the hat is a diminu- 
tive sailor in white straw, trimmed with blue ribbons, 
and now perched coquettishly on Miss Maudie^s head. 
Her face being broad and fat, and the hat small and 
narrow, it is not the most becoming head-gear she could 
have chosen, but having vaguely heard that English 
girls generally wear sailor hats all summer, she con- 
cluded that it would be the most appropriate finish to 
her toilette. 

The color is lovely, it is like the blue of heaven,’^ 
her mother replies, not trusting her own taste against 
that of her anglicized daughter 5 but tell me who are 
coming to-day — did Mrs. Eldmere accept 

^^Oh yes, of course,” says Maudie with a disdainful 
shrug 5” I had to ask her, as she lives so near, but you 
know, maman, that I have heard strange stories about 
her. She shuts herself up at the Grange with that girl, 
and one would think that she thought herself too good 
to mix with us 5 but to-day she will see the Marchioness 
of Eipdale here, and I hope to show Mrs. Eldmere the 
sort of people who come to my parties, but who would 
never go to see her. Some say she is a divorcee, others 
that she has a husband living, and Eldmere is not her 
right name. If she wasidt rich, and didn’t live at the 
Grange, I wouldn’t invite her, for I don’t admire those 
women who have a story like Mrs. Eldmere.” 

Here Maudie gives a virtuous sniff, and turning to 
take a look at herself in an opposite mirror, is horrified 
to see Mrs. Eldmere advancing with a quiet well-bred 
air, and dressed in creamy white from head to foot. Her 
face betrays no sign that she had overheard the i)revious 


MAUDIE FLAYS HOSTESS. 


135 


coiiversation, and Maudie^ mucli relieved, goes forward to 
meet her and several other guests who have at this 
moment arrived. 

Mrs. Eldmere, however, had overheard Maudie’s last 
remarks, and she feels a hot wave of anger and shame 
at the thought that this girl, whom she had always 
despised as shallow and weak, should he able to use her 
name so lightly. She wishes she had never come, or 
that at least Topsie were here to defend her ; but she 
wisely resolves to remain for a time, congratulating her- 
self that she ordered her carriage at an early hour. 
Now the visitors begin to arrive in shoals, and Maudie 
is quite proud and pleased at the undoubted success of 
her first large garden party. 

The house is crowded, and so are the pretty lawns and 
trim walks, with smart, well-dressed girls and matrons, 
accompanied by their attendant cavaliers. Tennis is in 
full swing and some adventurous spirits are engaged at 
bowls and croquet; all is life and animation, for the 
good people of the neighborhood have few opportunities 
for showing off their fine clothes, and the present occa- 
sion is worthy of their best efforts, for has not a rumor 
been whispered that no less a person than the Mar- 
chioness of Eipdale would grace the fete with her 
beautiful presence. 

Maudie de la Roche was a little upstart nobody, it is 
true, but, viewed in the reflected light of a real live 
marchioness, she becomes a charming hostess whom they 
are all glad to patronize. 

Maudie is in a perfect flutter of delight, but her 
anxiety becomes evident when the last guest has been 
announced and no marchioness appears. She consults 


136 


HER FLA y THINGS, MEN. 


her watch every few moments, and at last, to her 
delight, with a great clatter of prancing high-bred steeds 
and glittering trappings, the Ravenstowe carriage ap- 
pears, and her bliss is unalloyed. The Marchioness of 
Ripdale languidly descends, and is received by Maudie 
with effusive thanks for her ladyship’s appearance. 

‘^YeSj I thought it would amuse me to come and see 
your garden party,” she remarks, coolly. ‘^What a 
crowd you have here ! Where did they all come from 
she continues, sinking into a comfortable chair and gaz- 
ing with apparent curiosity at the scene on the lawn. 

There’s a pretty gown rather — Pin gat or La Ferrierre, 
I would swear. Maudie, who is the wearer of that 
creamy- white gown*? She’s not a country woman, I’m 
sure.” 

^‘Oh, that’s Mrs. Eldmere, of the Grange,” says 
Maudie, and is about to give further details of that lady 
when the marchioness, to her surprise, with a start and 
cry of astonishment, exclaims : 

Why, that must be Elra Brookley — it’s so like her!” 

“ She’s called Mrs. Eldmere,” says Maudie, pursing up 
her mouth. 

Oh well, never mind,” continues her ladyship — it 
maybe only a resemblance j” nevertheless, in her own 
mind she knows it is Elra, and determines to find out 
why she is now masquerading under the name of Eld- 
mere. It will be some sort of amusement, she thinks, to 
unearth a little intrigue, and she resolves to begin on 
this at once. 

If the truth must be told, Maudie de la Roche is now 
honored with the friendship, or rather patronage, of the 
Marchioness of Ripdale for the simple reason that the 


MA UDIE PLA VS HOSTESS. 


137 


lady is now vegetating (as she calls it) at Kavenstowe, 
and having met Miss de la Roche at a tennis gathering? 
and being much amused at her posing a Panglaise, she 
makes her acquaintance, promising herself much enter- 
tainment from the girPs evident simplicity and gulla- 
bility. 

Her ladyship^s husband is now in Canada, and during 
his absence she has deemed it politic to spend a few 
weeks with his people at Ravenstowe, though she hates 
everything pertaining thereto with a deadly hatred, and 
is consumed with ennui. The life they lead is intensely 
dull and formal, and as her only society is composed of 
the ladies Pysche and Amabel Allesmere, two anti- 
quated spinsters of doubtful age, Maudie’s rill of chatter 
proves a welcome and refreshing oasis in the dead level 
of her existence at Ravenstowe, and she has even con- 
descended so far as to honor the garden party with the 
light of her presence. 

Sir Gregory Athelhurst and his friend De Montford 
were among some of the earlier guests that afternoon, 
and, after a few words to his hostess. Sir Gregory clev- 
erly contrives to secure a vacant seat near Mrs. Eldmere, 
to which he appears to be glued for the next half hour, 
happy in the mere presence of his divinity, who receives 
all his advances with great coldness, and seems quite un- 
concerned by the baronet’s deep sighs and furtive glances, 
though she is in truth much annoyed by the same. 

De Montford has been introduced to her, and, with his 
usual keen perception and fine tact, he at once recog- 
nizes her as Mrs. Cresenworth, but does not intend to 
let her know that he does so. He, therefore, makes him- 
self very charming to the lady, who is greatly relieved 


138 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


to be rid of Sir Gregory, and at the same time he 
makes up his mind to two things: one is, that Mrs. Eld- 
mere is the wealthy American heiress who made a sensa- 
tion by her beauty and riches at Brussels some years 
ago 5 the other, that he is perfectly willing to assist the 
lad.v in spending her monej", being particularly hard up 
at the time, and he concludes that he must either marry 
her, or, if her husband is still living, so far compromise 
her that he will get a divorce, and De Montford will then 
make his own terms with the supposed Mrs. Eldmere. 

Though these thoughts are flitting through his mind 
he does not forget to play the part of a polished gentle- 
man, and Mrs. Eldmere, far from suspecting his real 
motives, is genuinely glad to meet him j it is such a treat 
to find a well informed traveller such as De Montford 
ai^pears to bej and after Sir Gregory’s platitudes his 
remarks are doubly welcome. 

^^May I not get you some refreshments F he asks her, 
after a time — “ an ice, or a cup of tea, or some fruit f’ 

I think you may bring me a cup of tea,” says Mrs. 
Eldmere; ^^no sugar,” she adds, ^^only a little cream;” 
and De Montford goes at once to procure it for her. 

Just at this moment she becomes aware that Maudie 
de la Eoche has entered the room with a gentleman, and 
instinctively she feels that they are watching her. Mrs. 
Eldmere glances carelessly at the speakers, but as she 
raises her eyes, it is to meet those of Eutland Borra- 
dale fixed intently on her. One look from those eyes of 
love or scorn or hatred, she knows not which, and he 
has turned away without even an acknowledgment of 
her bow of recognition. Her heart is beating fast, and 
she feels the color ebbing from her cheeks ; would De 


AfA UDIE PLA YS HOSTESS. 


139 


Moiitford never come % At least he will shield her from 
the cruel coldness of those eyes, which will haunt her 
now for many a day. 

Being a woman, and a finished actress, Mrs. Eldmere 
shows no sign of what she feels, as leaning lazily back 
in her chair she plays with a white feather-fan, and 
languidly swings it to and fro, while in the silence of 
the now deserted room she plainly hears his voice and 
Maudie’s replies. 

^‘IsTow, Mr. Borradale, you must see my flowers,” 
says that young lady, as coquettishly as she is able. 

am proud of my orchids. Won^t you please take 
Mrs. Eldmere through the conservatory ? I see she is 
sitting there alone, poor thing, and it would be a charity 
to take compassion on her ! Let me introduce you. She 
is a charming grass widow.” This is all said in a hurried 
whisper, but the gentleman^s reply is clearly spoken ; 

“Ko, I thank you. Miss de la Roche, I do not care to 
improve my acquaintance with such widows, but if you 
will be my partner I shall be delighted to join our friends 
in a game of tennis j” and offering his arm to the young 
lady the two pass out through the open window onto 
the lawn. 

Here’s another man who doesn’t approve of Mrs. 
Eldmere,” thinks Maudie, with a little snigger of delight 
at the same. I really mustn’t ask her here again. It 
doesn’t do to be too charitable, and men always dislike 
any mystery about a woman. But,” she continues aloud, 

there is the marchioness ! How would you like to make 
yourself agreeable in that quarter, Mr. Borradale?” 

Here is your cup of tea, Mrs. Eldmere,” says De 
Montford, who had quietly entered in time to hear the 


140 


HER F.LAYTHINGS, MEN. 


last few remarks j and noticing her deadly pallor and 
trembling lips, he adds, so significantly that Elra felt 
sure he must know all her secret, This room is close 
and you are looking pale. Will you not accept my escort 
through the conservatory The cool air will revive you, 
and I cannot bear to see you suftering.^^ 

Mrs. Eldmere mutely thanks him with her eyes, and 
placing the tips of her gloved hand upon his arm, they 
enter the little conservatory that opens from the draw- 
ing room, and, with a few carefully chosen remarks, De 
Montford puts his companion at her ease again as he 
points out the various beauties of Maudie^s somewhat 
diminutive collection of flowers and orchids. 

Oh, how very beautiful!” cries Mrs. Eldmere, really 
pleased. These lilies are fair as the young girl, I sup- 
pose, you will choose for your bride.” 

^‘Who could the fair one be?” laughed De Montford. 

She may be very fair, but not so for my eyes. I do 
not know that any one is lovely beside you.” 

Oh !” she says, a little sceptically, if ever so little 
startled, ^^you are learning to be a polished courtier, 
Mr. de Montford.” 

‘‘ Sunshine perfects and draws forth the beauties of the 
rose 5 my sunshine lies in your eyes, Mrs.— Oresen worth.” 

He said it so gently, breathing the last word with 
such reluctant tenderness, that she could scarcely feel 
inclined to resent his speech, but a little look of alarm 
stole into her eyes as she placed her fingers on his coat 
sleeve, saying : 

“ I think I hear the first carriages approaching the 
hall door. I shall be glad to have mine ordered also, so 
I must go and say adieu to my charming hostess.” 


THE TEMPEST SWEEPS APACE. 


141 


CHAPTEE XYIL 

THE TEMPEST SWEEPS APACE. 

Do we blame one who has been starved for hungrily 
devouring some delicious food which is at length offered 
him ^ Can we sympathize with the frail human nature 
which, having hungered of the mind for many months, 
has the intoxicating banquet of love placed before it to 
tempt it to partake ? 

Such was the allurement offered by the naughty little 
god to Elra Oresenworth on the day when, thinking no 
harm, dreaming no harm, she wandered listlessly among 
the hedge-rows, plucking a golden primrose here and 
there, rejecting it for a cowslip bell that temi:)ted her from 
its nook under the pink and white hawthorns lining 
her way, and among whose shower of blossoms the soft- 
eyed wood-pigeon was cooing to its mate. Her thoughts, 
in sympathy with the gladsome nature around her, are 
pleasant one», though sometimes, indeed, they are tinged 
with the more sombre of colors. Why do her thoughts 
fly back to that unpalatable episode of Maudie^s alter- 
noon She clinches her teeth at thought of Maudie^s 
triumphant malice — she spurns beneath her heel an in- 
offensive pink-lipped daisy when her thoughts revert to 
Eutland Borradale^s coldly calculated slight—she remem- 
bers with pleasure of De Montford coming to her rescue. 

De Montford ! where has she seen or heard that name? 
In Brussels 5 yes, but where else ? Oh !” she cries, as a 


142 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN 


light breaks in upon her — an unpalatable one, evidently, 
as her eyes darken with something like annoyance as 
she thinks : Was his the name that Topsie read as 
figuring in that sad story % How little attention I pur- 
posely paid when Topsie read to me the details of her 
sad secret ! but, now I think of it, I fancy the two names 
are alike. Can he be that villain % — and yet his face does 
not look very wicked. He tells me he has a brother who 
is an entirely black sheep, but what must I believe V"' 
Thereupon she arranges a little plan by which she 
will herself find out all about it 5 to speak to Topsie 
on the matter would, she thinks, be to torture her need- 
lessly, poor little woman ! 

^‘If it be indeed he,” she cries, clasping her hands, 
no hatred or vengeance of mine will be too bitter for 
him. But I must go to work cautiously.” 

Here Lion, who has hitherto been following her, and 
who thinks he has not received his due share of attention, 
pushes his wet nose beneath her hand and thus compels 
her to stroke his glossy head. 

“ Naughty Lion, who has lost his collar and cannot 
recover it again, do you not know that it bears a message 
from me to my only loved one F She continues, play- 
fully, Naughty hound, bring it to me again, for when 
he comes back once more he must read the word and 
solve the problem, as he alone can.” 

She has come by this time to an ugly looking stile, 
and as she stands reflective as to whether she will cross 
it pr not a strong hand is put forth to help hers ; there is 
a meeting of the eyes, a lingering hand-pressure, and 
Borradale stands pnce more beside Elra with the old 
protective look and attitude, his arm on her slight waist 


THE TEMPEST SWEEPS APACE. 


143 


while he draws her to him. Very dangerous for Borra- 
dale at that moment is that protecting position he holds 
above the beautiful woman who calls another man than 
he her lord and husband 5 more dangerous still is her 
position to the woman who knows in her heart she has 
never swerved in lovers allegiance from the man towering 
above her. 

I entreat you, let me pass,” she says, pale to the 
lips with the emotion that is mastering her. It is un- 
manly, cruel, your being here,” she continues, endeavor- 
ing to brush his arm aside.” 

My meeting you here was by no will of my own, God 
knows! Elra,” he replies, bitterly — “but here by an 
adverse chance, if you will, I have found you, and I do 
not relinquish you again, as I am a man and love you.” 

Something in Elra’s brain there was that seemed to 
snap, and in her mind was a wild confusion as of a world 
turned upside down. 

“What is right and wrong? Is it the justice of 
Nature to give allegiance where the heart has given 
love, or is it more praiseworthy to give cold friendship 
where devotion has been vowed ? Heaven 1” she cries, 
lifting her hand to her brow, “ My head is on fire.” But 
to Borradale she says, coldly, “Go!” 

“ I will go indeed, darling, now, with the assurance 
that your love has never been given to any save me,” 
and without other caress than a tender pressure of the 
golden embroideries of her waistband he is gone. 

Elra’s emotions for some days after the above scene 
we shall not attempt to describe, but Borradale’s are as 
follows : Now that the overpowering influence of love 
has crept into his life again — for he is more than ever 


144 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


passionately enamoured of the woman who, in the midst 
of her love has insulted and scorned him — he longs to 
have her snowy arms placed of their own accord once 
more about his neck, and her lips breathing the words 

I love you,’^ till in the very wretchedness of his loss he 
swears it shall still be so, however he encompass it ! To 
effect his object he has many times to elude the vigilance 
of Sir Gregory, whom he once actually meets prowling 
around the Grange walls on — he supposes — the same 
errand as himself, and he feels consequently wrathful 
with the meddlesome baronet for sinning as he sins. 

However, nothing appears to reward his efforts until 
one morning, on which he had carefully watched Sir 
Gregory and De Montford ride off for a distant meet of 
hounds, when, strolling in the fields without even the 
excuse of a gun over his shoulder, he hears a, little ap- 
pealing cry of distress. It comes from a lady at the 
other side of the fence, who, unaware of the proximity 
of any male thing, is doing brave battle with an inno- 
cent-looking bumble-bee, and ducking her head affright- 
edly now and again as though a huge winged monster 
were looming above her. This affords him even a better 
opportunity than he had hoped. 

The horrid bee !” he cries, mimicking her tones of 
distress, when coming upon her unawares he draws her 
tenderly to him with one arm while with the other 
he wards off the monster, and he is rewarded for his 
gallantry by seeing that her primly pursed lips have 
broken into an unwilling smile. 

Let us sit here for a while,” says Borradale, gently 
drawing her down beside him on a bank of mosses 
and kingcups 5 wish to speak to you seriously.” 


THE TEMPEST SWEEPS APACE. 


145 


“Keally,” retorts she, looking a little ruffled and a 
little frightened. “And you cannot speak seriously 
walking F 

“ It is not my wish to !” says the young man illogi- 
cally, the while scanning her coolly from head to foot. 

“ You surely do not think to speak ably or calmly or 
seriously with your arm where it is at present. But I 
presume you are above the follies of your sex.” This 
she says in a partly mocking, wholly provoking tone, and 
it makes him cry, in return, 

“Perhaps so, but as I do not wish to speak coolly I 
sliall leave my arm where it is and dare all for so de- 
licious a position.” 

“Pray don’t speak warmly; I must suffocate if you 
try,” says Elra, with a very attractive languor. 

“ Elra,” he cries, in a hoarse whisper, “ I would I 
could overpower you with the strength and depth of my 
great love ! I would I might always have you to protect 
and cherish, Elra;” eagerly, “let me live — let me hope 
that once more I shall have you by my side !” 

“I am sure,” she says, rather flippantly, “you will 
have me much longer than you care to keep me.” Why 
then did she appear so astonished at the passionate 
caress that followed ? Was it mere coquetry that made her 
turn her wondrous lovely eyes to his with a glance of lan- 
guid, haughty inquiry and the little scornful word, “ SirF 

“ Elra, why cannot we be to each other as we once 
were ? I cannot help incturing you in my mind as one 
of those dazzling flies that haunt the water’s brink, no 
sooner touched than they vanish from your grasp. Shall 
we not be as we have been, Elra ?” But she evades 
answering him. 


14G 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN, 


^ Do not, for mercy sake, puzzle me with conundrums 
to-day, my brain is softening, the sifting of a problem 
would dissolve it utterly j leave me, in fact, overpowered 
if not seated here all night.” 

Then I should be happy staying with you, Elra,” he 
cries, pleadingly j say with your owu sweet little lips, 
^ Eutland, I love you V ” 

Elra is silent, and in the pale twilight which is creep- 
ing on he fails to judge of tlie horror, the pain written in 
her eyes. 

‘‘ We must separate, sir,” she cries, coldly springing 
to her feet, but he draws her back to his side again hy 
the power of his strong right arm, which is not to be 
deterred now. 

Sweetest, you fear to stay, you tremble for yourself 
because you — love— me ! Say it is so and I live but to win 
you by my side again.” And as he says it a great wave 
of hope and passion struggles in his eyes. 

Love you I do not,” she says, coldly turning away, 
and remembering as she says it a scene of not so very 
many months ago in which it had been from his lips that 
those same callous words had fallen. He bites his lips 
as he hears them. ^^And yet he says it is ennobling in 
a woman to love.” 

Eot with the woman whose love solemnly plighted 
to one man is given to another.” 

“ Is it thus in this case, Elra ?” he says, softly. But do 
not deny it ; you cannot,” he cries, with a flash of some- 
thing very like triumph in the eyes that he turns to search 
hers, and with which he seems to tear her secret from her in 
spite of herself. She trembles with virtuous indignation 
and — and some other kind of feeling that we shall not 


V 


THE TEMPEST SWEEPS APACE. 


147 


attempt to describe, but which we fear was the more 
potent of the two in making her feel very much like an 
aspen in the summer breezes. Do not deny it,” he re- 
peats. You dare not ! You shall not! You cannot!” 
and losing all self-control, he takes her in his arms with 
a few whispered words which n?,ake her turn white as 
the blossoms that heap the hawthorn sprays. Leave 
him I Gome to me I It is but justice that I ask. You 
have insulted and injured me through him. Let him be 
the sufferer now.” Recoiling from his caress Elra Cres- 
en worth, with the grand dignity of only an offended 
goddess, or the daughter of an independent race, with 
lip that curls with noble scorn, and tiny foot that seems 
to spurn the very ground he treads, she says, in a voice 
trembling and hoarse. 

How must I teach you that I loathe you % how I 
contemn you as you deserve ? how I — ” 

Enough,” says Borradale, with a dangerous flash in 
his eyes. “ Yours, madam, was the fault. To you was 
reserved the task of making our deep, simple, noble love 
a sin — yours be the blame. To that which in my prom- 
ised wife was a cowardly disloyalty must I return the 
thanks that are due.” As she saw him turn on his heel 
in bitter scorn her white cheek was not more deadly 
pale than his passion-marked features, and with a groan 
of scarce so much anger as horror she sank back in a 
hepless and hopeless attitude among the primroses 
and kingcups. 

Once again Rutland Borradale stands beside Elra 
Oresenworth, and this time the victory is his, for she 
trembles as she tells herself that her jealously guarded 
secret lies bare before him. 


148 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


Lion has no collar now as he used to of old/^ he had 
said, and yet I remember when he had a costly one. 
^Witli my heart forever'’ I gave him — ” Here he pauses, 
and as she does not appear to have heard what he said, 
he continues: And our compact, Elra, do you remem- 
ber it F 

“ I believe,” she retorts, indifferently, it was that if 
the parties were separated, and he should come back 
after many years, the word never., inscribed on the collar, 
should tell him — what he did not deserve to know — that 
her love had never swerved.” 

And was that word ever written ?” he asks, eagerly 
seizing her hands. But Elra has clinched her pearly 
teeth with the determination that the man before her 
shall never wring her secret from her lips, and it is 
therefore with the utmost seeming indifference that she 
replies : 

“Is’ot to my knowledge. The bill for rendering the 
word as agreed upon, in rubies, would have come to 
nearly live thousand — a sum that the lady thought 
scarcely worth while throwing in the dust.” 

Here he listens no longer, but with a little laugh of 
triumph he catches her in his strong arms and strains 
her to him. 

“Elra ! Elra ! deny it no longer, you love me still, for 
here is the proof,” and he unfeelingly holds before her 
horrified eyes the rich collar taken from Lion’s neck 
scarce a fortnight ago. Driven to bay, with a flame in 
her eyes that is to him rather maddening to see, she is 
for all that more powerful than ever in her very weak- 
ness, for she says : ^ 

“I have loved you, indeed, Eutland, but for the sake 


THE TEMPEST SWEEPS APACE. 


149 


of that love give me your pity and do not drag me down. 
God grant I may never see you more!” With this she 
passes from his arms without — as he tells himself re- 
proachfully — his having wrung from her dewy lips the 
confession : I love you, Eutland !” 


150 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


CHAPTEE XVIII. 

RECONCILIATION. 

It is past eight o’clock, and Mrs. Eldmere’s pretty pro- 
file still lies cushioned among the billowy eider-down 5 
she is dreamily thinking of those sweet, dangerous mo- 
ments that yesterday has made her live through 5 and 

Oh,” comes the thought to her, shall I yield — shall I 
give myself to love and all that is glorious and lovely in 
human life, or (shuddering) shall I rise beyond myself? 
Can I ?” She is gliding down-hill, she feels herself very 
weak to resist, and yet in her great struggle she cries 
aloud : 

“ Oh, for a staying hand ! Oh, for the protection of a 
strong, true friend I Why is not my husband here to 
stand by my side and save me ? Elra ! Elra ! it will soon 
be too late ! Go back while yet you can to the shelter 
of his roof, to the embrace of his protecting arm.” 

At this thought she shudders and pales, but with a 
little clinched fist and set white teeth she mutters, I 
shall—” 

Here her thoughts are interrupted by the entrance 
of her maid, who, coming gently to the bedside, says, 

Two letters for you, madam,” and hands her the silver 
salver. 

^^That will do, Forbes,” her mistress answers, hastily 
glancing at the handwritings. I see there is a letter 
from my lawyer here which will entail a visit to Brighton 


RECONCILIA TION. 


151 


to-day. Order breakfast for 8:30, and then come to dress 
me.” 

I shall take the ten o’clock train,” thought Mrs. 
Eldmere, and I must go alone. It would not do to 
take Topsie with me. How I hate the business ! But 
Mr. Barton says he must see me, so I suppose there is 
no help for it, and I don’t want him to be seen here. I 
can’t afford to have the village gossips making conjec- 
tures on his appearance, though old Barton looks more 
like an out-at elbows parson than the clever lawyer he 
really is. Heigh ho ! I wish the deed were done.” 

Two hours later Mrs. Eldmere was seated in a first- 
class carriage on her way to Brighton, and on the arri- 
val of the train she drove at once to her lawyer’s office. 

‘^Mr. Barton is very busy, but if you will wait a few 
moments he may be able to see you,” says a young clerk, 
with great assurance, pointing to a vacant chair. This 
Mrs. Eldmere refuses to take, and giving the luckless 
youth a withering glance of scorn, which causes him to 
blush perceptibly, she hands him her card and says, I 
wish to see Mr. Barton at once.” 

A moment more and she is ushered into the lawyer’s 
sanctum, to find Mr. Barton blandly bowing and smiling, 
as is the accustomed method of the spiders of the law 
in receiving their victims or fair clients. 

Very glad to see you, my dear madam. Lovely day, 
is it- not?” says the lawyer, handing his visitor a chair. 

Yes, indeed,” says Mrs. Eldmere, or Cresen worth, as 
we must now call her, but I didn’t come here to talk 
about the weather, Mr. Barton. Now tell me frankly 
what you want me to do. You know I trust you to do 
the best for me,” 


152 


HER PLA Y THINGS, MEN. 


Yes, yes, my clear lady,” says Mr. Barton, playing 
nervously with his spectacles and moving some papers 
in front of him as if in search of something. Now I am 
going to suggest something to you — something that I 
feel sure is the best thing to be done.” Then, after a 
pause, Is there no possibility of a reconciliation be- 
tween yourself and your husband, madam ? That is 
what 1 mean 5” and tlie old lawyer glanced keenly at her 
face, as if he would read her very thoughts. 

You see the case looks very badly for you,” he con- 
tinues ; I think there is no hope of its being ever under- 
stood in your favor, and a black pall of dishonor, though 
totally unmerited, would darken and enshroud your life. 

^^My dear child,” says Mr. Barton, for you are but a 
child to me, and must forgive the extreme interest I take 
in you, my advice to you is, try to be reconciled to 
your husband and take no further steps in this affair. 
His fault was but too great a love for you j can you not 
forgive him, and treat him with somewhat of wifely af- 
fection? He has nearly suffered death; he will never 
be the same man again that he was before he made that 
fatal mistake for love of you ?” 

Mrs. Oresenworth listens in haughty silence, and Mr. 
Barton pauses for a reply. 

She is thinking of it all — the sacrifice she will have to 
make, the loss of esteem from all those who to her are 
estimable, and she sighs. Even the other day did she 
not quiver when listening to the spiteful words of the fat 
Maudie, whom she had always so thoroughly despised, 
and how would it be if such words were always meted 
out to her by her own sex ?• Would she always be held in 
light esteem by men, or be, in other words, despised by all 


RECONCILIA TION 


153 


her friends and foes alike ? She shudders, and sits with 
clasped hands, while a sob breaks from her quivering lips. 

The lawyer is not slow to take advantage of her soften- 
ing mood, and clinches his argument by a persuasive : 

What shall I write to your husband, madam % Shall 
it be reconciliation, as he most dearly hopes it may, or 
must it be separation, which means a broken heart for 
him and untold misery for you ? What shall it be, 
madam F 

Without trusting her voice to speak, Mrs. Oresen worth 
took the pen and wrote but one word, Come !’^ and then, 
placing her hand in the big palm of the kindly lawyer, 
she made as rapid an escape as possible from this little 
den of legal horrors. 

The same evening we find her again at her home at the 
Grange, and after a solitary meal she strolls out in the 
cool of the evening to wander in the fragrant rose gar- 
den, now filled with delicious perfume of June roses. As 
she paces through the green parterres a shade of sadness 
is on her brow, for she remembers the events of the day, 
and is haunted by thoughts of the future and the mes- 
sage she had sent, if only of one word. Had she done 
right to send it ? As she paces up and down restlessly 
she calls from time to time, ^^Lion, Lion, but nothing 
living appears to answer her call. She has been told 
that since her departure that morning her beautiful grey- 
hound has been missing, and her heart is filled with mis- 
givings, for Lion is a link to the past. The dog had 
belonged to him by whom, alas, her life had been made 
the wreck it was, and it was the only thing left to remind 
her of the past. She could not bear to picture her noble 
hound in any one’s keeping save her own. 


154 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN 


Perhaps he knows, poor brute, that his master is 
banished now forever, and that a rival will soon take his 
place— may be here even to-night. He is more loyal 
than his mistress, who is willing to bend to an unloved, 
rule.” 

Leaving the rose garden, she wanders down through 
lawns and meadows towards the river, which, in the soft 
twilight, lies shimmering between its leafy banks. Here 
she is startled to see a lanky form crouched among the 
ferns and grasses, which, springing up at her approach, 
presents very much the appearance of a half-tamed creat- 
ure. Mrs. Cresenworth recognizes in her a village girl 
she had often seen in her wanderings, who went by the 
name of Daddy Dolan, and had rather an unenviable rep- 
utation of being as wild as a young goshawk. 

Why, Daddy, what are you doing here at this time 
of night?” says Mrs. Cresenworth, kindly, as the girl, 
seeing a friendly face, had gone down again on her knees 
among the bracken, as if searching for something lost. 

^^Pve lost my best friend,” she answered brusquely. 

“ Indeed !” replied Mrs. Cresenworth, smiling. And 
who may that be ?” 

It isn^t a ‘ who,^ ” says the girl j “ it’s a ^ what.’ ” 

I really don’t understand you.” 

No 5 I dare say not. I mean it isn’t alive.” 

Oh, dead. Is it a pet bird you have brought here to 
bury ?” A 

‘^I never had a live pet,” says the girl, sullenly. 

This ’ere’s a knife.” 

A what ?” 

A knife. Tim give it me j brought it from the fair 
at Shoreham a while back. I uses it to cut most every- 


RECONCILIA TION. 


155 


thing with ; crack nuts ; cut off mice’s tails, and pare 
apples. And now I’ve lost him. I have heard that a 
knife cuts love; so I suppose Tim won’t briug me home 
that pink ribbon he promised, or, if he do, will give it to 
Sal — bad luck to her ! But I want to find my knife 
again, just to spite ’em. Tim alius liked me best.” 

“You foolish girl, to believe in such nonsense. Tim 
won’t like you any better or worse if you lose it, though 
he may say it was careless.” 

“ Well, here it is, lady,” cries the girl triumphantly, 
holding up an old well-worn jack-knife. “ Now, you 
must have brought me luck, for I’ve searched here nigh 
on an hour. Good-luck to you ; and if ever you wants a 
friend, remember there are two of them at your service 
— me and the knife !” 

Mrs. Gresenworth laughed at the girl’s grotesque re- 
marks, and had almost forgotten her late sad thoughts 
in the quaint little episode just recounted ; but as she 
walked back to the house she heard a rapid footstep 
behind, an arm was thrown around her, and, turning 
quickly, she sees her husband ! Elra Gresenworth 
started backward with a cry of pain. 

“ I did not think — So soon !” she gasped. 

“ My wife ! Are you not going to be my loving wife ?” 
he says, with the wistful ring of tears in his voice, 

“ Gan we forget she asks, after a long pause. 

“ Everything can be forgotten, if you so will it, Elra. 
Elra,” he whispered, with his longing eyes searching 
hers, and drawing her gently to him, “ my wife ! forgive 
and forget !” 

Gloser and closer he drew her to him, till, with an un- 
mistakable shudder, Elra lay in his arms, with her lips 


156 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN 


pressed by bis. It was not long, however, before this 
little scene was interrupted. A sound among the trees 
aroused them, and close at hand they heard the joyful 
bark of a hound, and in another moment Lion springs 
upon his mistress, while Elra, with a soft little j)urr of 
content and delight, caresses her recaptured idol. 

it Why, where do you come from, Lion she asks, in 
happy surprise, and, looking up, sees that they are not 
alone. A tall form is standing there in the shadow, 
and every vestige of color fades from her cheek, while 
into her eyes springs the fire of desperation ; for, coldly 
contemptuous, Rutland Borradale is surveying her with 
the scant mercy that the tyrant may give to his slave, the 
persecutor his victim, while from his lips drop words 
frigid as icicles. 

have had the pleasure of saving your dog^s life, 
and now I have the honor to return him to, I fear, his un- 
appreciative mistress.” 

He accompanied his words with one long, coldly cruel 
look, and ere she could choke back a traitor lump that 
would rise in her throat to prevent her forming words 
as icily indifferent, as bitterly cutting as were his, he had 
lifted his hat with lingering j)oliteness and turned from 
her without another word. 

No word was spoken by the lately returned husband 
of the appearance of Rutland Borradale on the scene at 
such an untoward hour, but H had proved for him none 
the less a deadly shock, and it could not fail to revive 
old and bitter scores. 

‘^Let us go in,” said his wife, rousing herself a little 
later from a dreary state of stupefaction — ^Hhe fog 
from the river has chilled me.” 


RECONCILIA TION. 


157 


And then it was for the first time that her anxious 
husband noticed with alarm the strangely rich color that 
burned in her cheek, while to his touch her hand was 
clammy and cold as that gf the dead. 



158 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A COAT OF SILKEN GRAY. 

Mrs. Murray Gresenworth is leaning languidly back 
among her luxurious sofa pillows looking rather paler 
than we have ever seen her before, while Topsie bends 
over her, gently smoothing back the masses of her dark 
hair and bathing her brow with some cooling fragrant 
essence. The girl’s eyes are full of sympathizing com- 
passion as she says gently : 

You have been ill, dear?” 

“Yes. I have had, perhaps, cause 5 but it is passed, 
says Mrs. Gresenworth, with a wan smile, and 1 am 
saved from a terrible temptation.” 

“I know, dear,” whispers Topsie sadly, “but you 
would never have fallen,” and the girl softly kisses back 
the tears which are thickly gathering in Elra’s eyes. 

“ I believe you are my good angel, Topsie,” she says 
ill a faint voice, “ what should I have done without that 
glorious pure light, that burns so steadily in your eyes, 
to help me onward over a stony pathway ?” 

Poor Topsie has turned away to cover the powerful 
emotion which is mastering her, and she points to the 
carriage drawn up at the door, with Murray as driver, 
waiting for Elra to take her seat beside him. 

With a sigh Elra rises, throws a wrap of costly sable 
about her, and descends the stairs to join her husband, 
while Topsie, from the window, watches them start with 


A COAT OF SILKEN GRAY. 


159 


a half unconscious sigh of ‘‘poor Elra!” lingering on 
her lips. 

“ Do you feel better now, Elra T asks her husband, 
anxiously, as Mrs. Oresenworth takes her place beside 
him. “You are so pale; had you not better put off the 
drive f ’ 

“ No, no,” she answers impatiently, “ I am quite well, 
it was only a slight faintness and that has passed.” And 
Elra settles herself amid the carriage pillows with a 
t red sigh, while her husband, quite reassured, and 
gladly welcoming this tete-a-tete, takes the reins from 
the waiting groom and drives off. 

“Where shall we go?” he asks her ; you know the 
country better than I do. 

“ Oh, anywhere !” she answers listlessly, these country 
roads are all alike. 

They drive on for some time in silence, then Mr. 
Oresenworth begins, “ I am sure you are dull here, Elra, 
this quiet country life is killing you ; let us leave the 
Grange and go abroad again, or up to town at any rate. 
Here you are completely buried alive — and I want my 
wife to enjoy herself and have every pleasure that can 
be found. Will you not let me drive you to the meet of 
drags and four-in-hands to morrow ? it will be a pretty 
sight and one you ought to witness, for I hear that all 
the county folks from far and near will certainly be 
present.” 

“ And that is a very good reason why I cannot go,” she 
says rather gladly. “I have nothing but such a weird . 
collection of dowdy old-fashioned wraps— many of which 
should certainly be pointed out as fit for Thady O’Elynn^s 
collection of antiquities in the village museum.” 


160 


HER PLA Y THINGS, MEN. 


‘‘I suppose you might make up a second edition of 
the petrified bundle ot rags, especially in these,” says 
Murray, touching her sables, “ but dear I don^t think you 
could possibly look to disadvantage even though the 
gathering be ever so cMc /” 

‘^Ah ! you do not know anything of our little feminine 
weaknesses and pinings to be considered the best dressed 
lady of the throng. Most of us would never show our- 
selves if it were not for the pleasure of eclipsing some 
other star of beauty or note.” 

“ I believe you,” says Murray, laughing, and as you 
must have the pleasure to-morrow of excelling in beauty 
and dress, we must see what Worth can do for you.” 

But the meet of drags is to be to-morrow morning,” 
interjects Elra ! 

Here Murray draws from under the carriage-seat a 
carefully arranged parcel, which is found to contain a 
lovely dove-colored mantle, trimmed with chenille em- 
broidery and fringe of feathers and lined with soft rose- 
colored satin. 

Why, what a beauty I” says Mrs. Cresenworth, “ and 
how good of you to think of it.” 

She is supremely touched by this small incident, and 
tells herself that she is cruel to give so little in return 
for so much love and thought for her. She longs to be 
gentle and womanly, to fling her arms around her hus- 
band^s neck with the tender, whispered words, am 
yours, darling!” But when her dewy lix^s meet his a 
vision rises up as though to mock at her — a vision of two 
eyes aflame with mingled passion, scorn and hatred — 
and after all it is with a little rebellious sigh that she 
suffers the caress of her husband. 


A COAT OF SILKEN GRAY. ICl. 

I forgot to tell you, dear,’’ be says a moment later, 
that I have asked Offiugtoii to come and stay with us 
for a week. He is a bright, clever fellow, and I know 
you like him, so I felt sure you would not object.’^ 

^‘Ko, indeed; I am very glad to hear it,’^ says Elra. 
Mr. Offington is an old favorite of mine.’’ 

He is quite epris with your little friend Miss Top- 
sie,” says her husband. I wonder if there is any like- 
lihood of its being mutual ? It wouT^ be a good match 
for her. Don’t you think Topsie would marry him F 

No, dear ; I do not think she is the girl to care to 
marry in a hurry. She has only seen him once, and I 
am sure I shall never bear to part with her.” 

But I want my Elra all to myself!” 

A look of wistful reproach steals into Elra’s eyes as she 
answers : 

Dearest, remember all she has been to me when — 
when I was alone here.” 

Then, Elra, you shall have her always if you wish 
it, if that will make you love me the least little bit 
more.” 

Being a New Tork business man he did not fail to 
make a bargain, even in an affair of love. 

On their return, an hour later, they find Miss Topsie 
impatiently awaiting them, as she stands shading her 
eyes from the sun, and tapping the broad stone steps with 
a little foot clad in a smart patent-leather shoe, while 
now and then she pushes back a stray lock of red gold 
hair from her white forehead. 

^^At last!” she cries, helping Elra to alight, while 
Murray Oresen worth tosses the reins to a groom, and 
they all three enter the house. 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


]G2 


‘^Are you tired, dear F says Topsie, for Mrs. Cresen- 
wortli sinks into the first comfortable chair with a little 
yawn. 

^^Yes, I am, dear — wretchedly tired. We drove too 
far, I think. Fortunately, I can go and rest now till 
dinner-time.’^ 

And, in the mean time, I will go and gather some 
flowers,” says Topsie. I see the roses want renewing, 
and 1 noticed some beauties out on the front lawn just 
now.” So the young lady runs to fetch a pretty willow 
basket to hold the flowers j and, tying a dainty bit of 
lace and muslin over her bright hair, she starts out to 
rob the garden of its treasures. 

Her basket is now nearly full, and she makes a charm- 
ing i)icture of girlish grace as she flits from one rose- 
bush to another, softly humming a merry tune the while. 
So intent is she on her thoughts that she has not heard 
a carriage drive up to the door, and she gives a little 
cry and start of surprise as she hears herself called by 
name, and sees, coming across the lawn to meet her, 
Eoanwood Ofiington, accompanied by a young lady of 
about the mature age of eight years. 

Oh, Mr. Offington, how you startled me ! I had no 
idea that any one was near. Have you come to see Elra ? 
She is tired after her drive, and resting now, but Mr. 
Gresenworth is visible. Please come into the house 
after you have properly introduced me to this young 
lady. I am longing to meet a genuine American child, 
and she looks sweet.” 

So she is,” he replies . heartily. Here, Daisy, 
shake hands with this lady. She loves little girls.” 

How do you do ? I am glad to meet you,” says Miss 


A COAT OF SILKEN GRAY. 


163 

Oflangtoii, gravely ; and Topsie bends down to kiss the 
child with a tender, loving glance. 

What a pretty place the Grange is, and what lovely 
flowers says Mr. Offington, who has been watching 
Topsie’s face intently all this time. 

It’s all very well in summer, but wait till November 
or February,” she replies. “ The country is only bear- 
able for six months in the year. But please come in, 
and let me take possession of that wee mite, as she looks 
bored by our old-time notions of conversation. Come 
along, Daisy j” and, taking the child by the hand, she 
leads the way into the house. 

“ What a glorious pair of eyes 1” thinks Mr. Offington, 
as Topsie leads them across the lawn 5 and where could 
my own have been when I met this girl the other day ? 
I thought her pretty lively and interesting, but I find 
her a woman with soul and thought and depth shining in 
her eyes — lovely ones, too 1” he ejaculated. She w ill 
give some person trouble near the region of the heart 
before long, I expect, if she hasn’t done so already. 
Fancy calling a girl like that Topsie ! Why, it’s hea- 
thenish ! With that lovely face and figure one can pic- 
ture her as Adelaide or Marguerite !” 

At this period of his soliloquy Topsie turns to him and 
says : 

“ There is Mr. Cresenworth now, so I will go and tell 
Elra you are here, and carry Daisy off with me, for I 
know she is dying of ennui at present.” 

Well, old fellow, glad to see you !” says Murray Cres- 
enworth, as he enters the room, and the tw^o men go off 
for a chat and the inevitable cigar, while Elra and Top- 
sie amuse themselves with the quaint oddities of the 


164 


HER PLA YTHINGS, MEN. 


extremely self-possessed and entertaining maiden of 
eight summers. 

‘^All plain sailing now, Murray, isn’t it?” says bis 
friend, with a keen glance. I heard all sorts of rumors, 
you know, but I am ever so glad to find that things are 
amicably settled, and hope you may have a long life and 
a happy one.” Then, as Murray does not answer, he 
continues : ‘^Mrs. Cresenworth is a lovely and charming 
woman, and her friend. Miss Topsie must be a great ad- 
dition to the family circle, eh ?” 

^^ Oh yes 5 Topsie is a dear little girl,” says Murray, 
hastily, and a great friend of my wife’s j but you know, 
Eoan, or rather you will know some day, that there are 
times when three is no company — when one would like to 
have one’s wife to one’s self j but Elra has offered her 
a home here, and, of course, you will understand that 
though I like her very much, I rather wish sometimes 
we could be alone — Elra and I.” 

Well, Miss Topsie may marry some day,” says Mr. 
OfQngton, rather wistfully, and then your wishes will 
be fulfilled. I know of one who admires her greatly — 
too much for his own peace of mind— but I don’t know if 
she would have him. You see, he has only seen her 
twice, and that’s being rather sudden, isn’t it, even for 
a New Y^'orker ?” 

“ Yes, yes,” says Murray /3resenworth, absently. “ It 
would never do to speak to her yet ; and then, poor 
^ child, maybe she is happier now than she ever could be 
as the wife of even the man you allude to j women are 
such strange creatures it takes a man’s lifetime to find 
them out, and then, perhaps, the discovery of what they 
really are is made too late.” 


A COAT OF SILKEN GRAY. 


165 


‘‘ I am not sure if you are complimenting the man in 
question or the reverse,” says his friend, with a laugh ; 

but I am conceited enough to think that I could make 
any woman happy — that 1 loved passionately.” 

Well, w^ell, who knows V replies Murray. “ We all 
think we can do that.” 



1G6 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


CHAPTER XX. 

MATHILDE BECOMES ANGLICIZED. 

But let US in the mean time take a peep at Maudie de 
la Roche in her own little home, as she tries to improve 
the hours of her stay in England. 

Kot many miles from the Grange, on the Shoreham 
road, stands a pretty bijou cottage, surrounded by tiny 
grounds, and with an air of semi- gentility lurking in its 
green shutters, that are now hermetically sealed against 
the pure breath of the September breezes, and through 
which the subdued murmur of voices can be heard. 

They belong to a French lady and her daughter, who 
have taken up their residence at The Xest,” as the cot- 
tage is poetically called, and very substantial nestlings 
are now its occupants. The neighborhood was mildly 
alarmed when it was first made aware that two French 
ladies — Papists, as I fear the country folks called them 
— had taken the Xest for a year. But the new-com- 
ers had not proved themselves at all formidable. In- 
deed the daughter, Maudie (/leeMathilde), appeared only 
too anxious to become an English girl at the shortest 
possible notice, and most praiseworthy were the attempts 
she made to copy her more emancipated sisters of laper- 
fide Albion. And in the light of her good will to become 
Anglicized as rapidly as possible, the neighborhood had 
begun to tolerate Maudie, and even welcomed her some- 
times at their slow tea parties, seeing that she was neither 
beautiful nor witty, and would never inove a formidable 
rival in a love affair. 


MATHILDE BECOMES ANGLICIZED. 


167 


If the truth must be told, Madame de la Koche had 
many reasous for wishing the youngest and least inter- 
esting of her daughters to be favorably received, and 
her admitted taste in dress did its best to hide a stout 
thiok-set figure, which was poor Maudie’s greatest hUe 
noire, 

“ Why, mon enjant^'^ says her mother, coming into the 
small sitting-room one morning, and lifting expressive 
hands aghast to see her daughter calmly surrounded by 
letters of unmistakable masculine caligraphy, “ who are 
all these gentlemen writing to you 

Oh, don’t be alarmed, mother. They are only the 
greatest racquet players of England.” 

“ But where, darling, have you met these gentlemen? 
I see the names of Mr. Hartington, Mr. Wallace, and 
others. Why, I don’t even know them by name.” 

Neither did I,” says her daughter, imperturbably ; 
but that doesn’t matter, you dear, simple old thing. 1 
have only asked them to play in our tournament. It’s 
allright. Many of the English girls do these kind of 
things.” 

Oh,” says Madame, toning down again, as she con- 
templates her clever daughter, then I suppose it’s all 
right. These English have strange manners and customs, 
it seems to me. Well, how many of the gentlemen will 
play with you my dear ?” 

That’s the worst part of it,” says clever Maude, irri- 
tably. These horrid men ! How very distressing it is to 
try to do anything for them ! Here is Mr. Hartington 
says his doctor actually forbids his playing, and I read 
his name as playing somewhere yesterday, so I don’t be- 
lievehim. What shameful stories men can tell ! But 


168 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


now I must go, mother, as I am to join a paper chase 
to-day. How do you like the costume for itV’ And 
Maudie gets up and walks across the room to exhibit a 
marvellous new bloomer costume which she assures her 
mother is the correct thing for young ladies to wear dur- 
ing any athletic exercise. The dress looks oddly enough 
on Maudie^s plump, round little figure, which is thus 
shown, unfortunately, to great disadvantage ; and, to 
crown the costume, she has perched a small cap on her 
head, which is as unbecoming to her round, good-tem- 
pered face as anything could possibly be. But Maudie 
is determined to look like an English girl or die in the 
attempt j and though she hates active exercise of any 
kind, she is now prepared for a two or three mile spin 
across country, which will involve climbing gates, fences 
or other impediments j but go she must, or she will lose 
the prestige it has taken her so much hard trouble to 
gain. 

Mad.ame de la Eoche, whom we have seen before in 
Brussels, is at a loss what to say, she finds the bloomer 
costume ; and she is lost in wonder at the un- 

looked for traits which their sojourn in England has de- 
veloped in her daughter’s character. 

What is this paper chase 

Oh, we girls are the hounds, and the one who runs 
fastest is chosen for the hare, and he or she goes first, 
carrying a bag full of scraps of paper, which are dropped 
here and there on the roafl, to leave a track. Then, 
after the hare has had five minutes’ start, the hounds are 
off, following the scent or track by means of the scraps 
of paper. We don’t keep to the road, of course, but go 
across country, climb hedges, leap ditches, etc. Indeed, 


MATHILDE BECOMES ANGLICIZED. 


169 


we have to go wherever the hare leads us. Well, I must 
be off now ; so, good-bye,” and Maudie gives her perky 
little cap a few pats here aud there before the mirror, 
takes up a pair of gauntlets and a riding- whip, and thus 
oddly equipped goes out smiling, and satisfied that her 
costume and appearance will be as English if not more 
so than that of the girls she is likely to meet. 

^^Ah, mon BieuV’’ soliloquizes Madame de la Eoche, 
as she watches her daughter’s departure, she is a clever 
girl. Who is there that knew her in Brussels would 
meet her now in that strange dress, and say, ^This is 
Mathilde I’ She surprises me, her mother ; aud if Sir 
Gregory will only be at the hunt, he will find her like 
any English girl — though I think the men here have no 
taste if they say they like such a dress. It is horrible to 
me, mais enfiuy oue must do as others do in this country,” 
aud poor Madame nodded her head sagely, and trotted 
out to see her cook and arrange about their dinner for 
that evening. 

Early in the afternoon of the same day De Montford 
may be seen walking up the avenue to the Grange, 
where he sends in his card, asking to see Mr. Offington, 
if he is at home. The servant goes to inquire, and re- 
turns with a message to this effect: that Mr. Offington 
is not at home, but Miss Roanwood Offington will be 
glad to receive him, if he cares to wait until his return, 
which will be shortly. 

Somewhat surprised at this, as he does not know who 
Miss Roanwood Offington may be, he decides to be re- 
ceived, and is shown into a pretty drawing-room opening 
onto the rose garden, where he awaits his hostess. He 


170 


HER PL A y THINGS, MEN. 


is contemplating the lov^ely woodland scene before him 
with great interest, when he hears the i)atter of foot- 
steps, and, turning, sees a small child’s figure, not more 
than knee high to a grasshopper (as some people would 
remark), graciously advancing towards him. 

^^Miss Offingtonf’ ho asks, dubiously. 

^^Yes, I am Miss Offington. Won’t you be seated, 
])lease; and by what name shall I call .you?” says the 
young lady, quietlj", of the six foot of manhood towering 
above her. 

^^You would scarcely know my name, madam,” replies 
six foot with a sweeping bow. bring a letter to Mr. 
Offington — your uncle, I presume?” — introducing me 
from the Earl of Darcliffe. Here is the letter; but 
perhaps you may not be able to read it?” 

German ; no,” was the reply, in frosty tones, as she 
draws her little figure up ; but if it should bo in Eng- 
1 sh, Spanish, or French, I am quite able to master 
its contents.” 

So saying, she took the letter and demurely perused 
it, while her visitor sat lost in amazement at the self pos- 
session and quiet dignity of his child hostess. With a 
serious face she handed him back the letter, saying, 
quaintly, “ Be assured you are most welcome, sir, and of 
course you must stay to luncheon; they will all be home 
soon, and then you can see my uncle.” Mr. de Montford 
bowed and accepted, and here the conversation lan- 
guished; for, for the life of ^im he couldn’t think of any- 
thing to say to this mite, who seemed so unembarrassed 
at entertaining a perfect stranger that he was lost in ad- 
miration of her ready savoir faire, and only wished that 
he could feel as entirely at his ease as she did. 


MA THILDE BECOMES ANGLICIZED. 


171 


^‘Do you read poetry P his new little friend asked 
suddenly, and, before he had time to disclaim any such 
sentimental taste, she continued, I recite and forth- 
with plunged spiritedly into I had ten dollars in my 
inside pocket half singing, half reciting it, in a very 
extraordinary and amusing way the Englishman thought. 
It was a very severe trial for one whose nationality 
obliged him, under pain of being considered hopelessly 
ill-bred, never to be amused, to repress a strong inclina- 
tion to laugh, but being an Englishman, a hero in some 
respects, and a stoic in all, he valiantly crushed his 
hilarious inclinations, and rewarded the recitation with 
“ Very nice indeed ; a charming j)iece of poetry which 
remark greatly offended Miss Offington, who had been 
accustomed to have her successes crowned with loud ap- 
plause and much laughter, and who was secretly puzzled 
at this new genus of humanity whose acquaintance she 
had just made. 

I am afraid you must be tired of staying in-doors,” she 
said, rising, ‘^and would perhaps like to see the horses. 
I don’t myself go into the stables, it is more correct not” 
(she was in reality afraid of the horses, but she would 
never acknowledge it to any mere stranger) j but I 
can introduce you to the coachman or stable-boy, and 
either will give you all the information you want.” So 
saying Miss Offington led the way through the garden 
and field to the stables at the back of the house, and 
De Montford humbly followed, not daring to remonstrate. 

On the way there she condescended to him somewhat, 
and showed him how a man who was not afraid could 
stroke and scratch the pretty gentle Alderney’s ear, and 
showed him how the chickens loved to hear her voice, 


172 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


knowing in their own little minds that she seldom passed 
without causing some grain to drop from her dimpling 
fingersinto their midst 5 grain which, in this instance, the 
Englishman remarked, had a noted propensity for land- 
ing on the fat and comfortable backs of the more vener- 
able hens, where it would remain, probably for hours, 
safely out of reach. 

On the whole, the conversation was waxing friendly, 
when they were startled by an unaccountable commo- 
tion at the entrance to one of the cattle-sheds, and De 
Montford caught a glimpse of Maudie de la Eoche dis- 
I)laying her charms in a very startling costume, while 
she was in the act of disappearing from view in a neigh- 
boring door- way. 

Their next sensation, and it was a curious one, was 
the apparition of Mike the ’herd, in a very agitated 
frame of mind and gasping for breath. 

Oh, yer honor, sure it was stark starin’ mad she 
was I and I chased her all around, and the queer thing 
ran like crazy. Then she took and hid in the cow-house, 
and sure then I nabbed her safe, for I locked the door. 
All the same I felt curus to know what them creetures 
looks like, so I slides in at the windy and asks her what 
she wishes. Then such pitiful eyes as she raises to me, 
the poor thing ! and she says : ‘ Won’t you let me out 
agin ? 1 won’t hurt you. I’m only a hare, and the hounds 
are chasing me.’ And sure that was the poor thing’s 
craze, so I left her locked up, iiiid was going for the per- 
lice when I sees yer Honor, and thought to tell ye and 
show ye the poor crittur. But here comes Mr. Offington 
and Elra Oresenworth — sure and they might know best 
what to do wid her!” 


MATHILDE BECOMES ANGLICIZED. 


173 


Here the man at last drawing breath, Miss Offington 
breaks in: Why, here’s uncle and dear old Elra/’ 

cried the child, joyfully, with a feeling of relief, now that 
her responsibility regarding Mr. de Montford was at an 
end. ^‘This is a gentleman who wanted to see you, 
uncle.” The two men being duly introduced, she turned 
to the cowherd, who had now recovered from his breath- 
less recital, and was gesticulating and pointing to a 
shed in the corner of the field with great energy. 

Poor thing! she must be a mad woman,” said Elra, 
compassionately, upon hearing the details from the ’herd, 
whose name was Mike j ‘Met us come and speak to her; 
I don’t think she is dangerous.” 

Accordingly, the w'hole party walked over to the cow- 
house, w'hich Mike unlocked with great deliberation, and 
followed him in to see the strange creature. 

“ It’s ne’er a man or a woman, but somewhat like 
both,” said Mike in a stage whisper, “for I saw the 
trousers when it went flying around here, and it has pet- 
ticuts as well. There it lies, miss,” he says, triumph- 
antly, pointing to a wet, bedraggled-looking heap crouch- 
ing on some hay in a corner; “and now, ma’am, hadn’t 
I better run and fetch the perlice'?” 

“The police? Oh no, no !” cries the figure, springing 
up and trying to make for the door. “ I have done 
nothing I Allow me to go directly,” she cries, with a 
would-be haughty English stare, which has the result of 
making Elra feel rather a choking sensation. 

“ How do yon do, Maudie ? Been out for a run ? But 
I see you have.” 

For it was, indeed, Maudie, who, having been pressed 
hard by the pursuing hounds, had taken refuge in a 


174 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


cattle-shed attached to the Grange farm, and now stood 
before them gasping for breath, and deploring her lost 
dignity. 

I shall never play hare and hounds again,” sobbed 
Maudie. am tired of the hoidenish ways of English 
girls 1 I am tired of everything ! And oh, that dreadful 
de Montford will tell Sir Gregory, and then — oh !” This 
last thought brought a little angry sob with it, as 
Maudie paused to survey her own pitiful condition. 
Alas, for her hopes and aspirations to conquer on sight 
in an English girPs bloomer costume, for a sorrier figure 
she could not have presented ! Her dress, wet, torn and 
knee-deep in mud, her jaunty cap crushed over one ear, 
and her face burned a deep brick red by contact with the 
wind, presented a whole which was rather trying upon 
Maudie’s dignity and good looks, and which she rather 
suspected of forcing those little rebellious smiles to the 
lips of the horrid English audience. 

With a little injured whine of The marchioness is 
waiting for me all this time,” Maudie sneaks out of the 
foreign” crowd, and is off as quickly as her short 
limbs will bear her, in some direction best known to her- 
self, while De Montford improves his chances, or hopes 
he does, by lingering by Elra Cresenworth, opening 
gates, and paying her those hundred attentions which 
we poor women have such a weakness for. 


AN UNHAPPY HUSBAND. 


175 


CHAPTER XXL 

AN UNHAPPY HUSBAND. 

Reduced since the return of Murray Oresenworth to 
her own companionship, and being in rather a dreamy 
mood, Topsie goes down to the lake one lazy day and es- 
tablishes herself in ease and comfort on the soft cushions 
at the bottom of one of the boats — a favorite haunt of 
hers. She is lying idly, looking up at the blue sky, when 
a footstep is heard, and Roanwood Offington appears; 
then, with a scramble and a jerk, Topsie sits up in the 
boat, with heightened color and an assurance that she 
was not asleep or anywhere near the land of dreams. 

‘^May I take the oars and row you around the lake?” 
he asks; which request being granted, he enters the 
boat, and together they float around the island. 

Who has not loved to be alone, or nearly alone, on a 
lake on a lazy summer afternoon, gliding over the sheet 
of unruffled crystal, startling the coots, who go fluttering 
and splashing noisily to their covert among the rushes, 
or watching the black-eyed swans diving their snowy 
necks beneath the water, to reappear in another moment 
glossy and smooth as if no speck of moisture had touched 
their downy plumage ? It is cool in the shadow of the 
chestnuts, and along by the overhanging bank the keel of 
their boat cuts through the rippling water, making it 
rush with with a soft gurgle against the high-thrown 
sands. 


176 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


Topsie leans forward and gazes into the water with 
half-closed eyes^ while her companion watches her keenly 
and notes every light and shadow that passes over the 
girl’s expressive, telltale face. 

Of what are yon thinking ?” he says at last, and her 
reply startles him. 

I was thinking of the laws made by man, and how I 
despise them,” she answered. “ One day they bind the 
land with a band of iron j the next day they are dis- 
solved or laughed to scorn. Laws made by l^ature alone 
stand.” 

“ Well, my little metaphysician, what do you know of 
the making or breaking of laws?” he asked, curiously. 

The law means might, not right. It is only the weak 
minded who consider that immorality consists in the 
breaking of laws— those tiresome people who consider 
that the appearance of evil is evil, and that where there 
is no such appearance there justice is !” 

“ But there is no smoke without fire,” was his answer, 
while his honest eyes sought hers searcfiiugl^^ 

No, truly ; but who can judge by the smoke whether 
the flame is pure or impure? Who dares to say that 
beneath the appearance of crime lurks the real crime ? 
The wise, at least, will not dare a judgment, for there are 
so many little tricks of Fate, so many possible little hap- 
penings in human life, so many unfathomable motives 
in the human heart, that what appeared the crime of 
yesterday may show as the height of nobility, purity a-nd 
greatness in the human soul to-day.” 

‘^Poor little woman! What has happened to make 
you speak so sadly of life, when you should be so happy 
and thoughtless in your youth and beauty ?” 


AJ\r UNHAPPY PI USB AND. 


177 


Alas !” sbe tboiigbtj that my life was once such a 
continuous flood of golden sunshine, such a never-ending 
bubble of spaikling joy ! And now I have cut myself 
off from all right to sympathy. I have been insane 
enough to part with a birthright that can never be re- 
gained.’^ Aloud she said : “ Often those who seem the 
gayest and brightest are those who have most to bear in 
silence. There are some secrets that must be kept invi- 
olate, and even were I to tell you all, you might con- 
demn me as others have done.” 

He bends swiftly over her and takes her hand as he 
says : You may never enlighten me as to what has left 
this blight of melancholy upon your young life ; but I 
shall never believe aught of you save that which is pure 
and true and sweet.” 

You may be x)romising too much,” cries Topsie, with 
a tremor in her voice, and without waiting his answer, 
as the boat has now touched the shore, she springs past 
OfQngton, and, without touching his out-stretched hand, 
runs swiftly through the garden and is soon lost to 
sight. 

As days spread out into weelis, and Offington still 
lingers on near her, hoping he knows not what, Top- 
sie feels a chain linking itself around her heart which 
she had never known there before, and she trembles at 
the thought of sounding the depths of her own heart, 
which she knows she must do soon. 

But about this time a change comes over Elra’s volatile 
husband which affects matters rather strongly in the 
Grange household. 

The effect upon the neighborhood caused by the sud- 
den changing of Mrs. Eldmere’s name to that of Cresen- 


178 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


worth, and the startling appearance of that lady’s hus- 
band, had been great indeed, and rather confusing to 
rural minds. If Sir Gregory Athelhurst was greatly 
upset by this sudden and unlooked for blow, it seemed 
to have rather the contrary effect upon his friend De 
Montford, who had his own little schemes on hand, and 
the appearance of Mr. Murray Oresen worth upon the 
scene was not so great a surprise to him as it had been 
to poor Sir Gregory. 

After the first awkwardness had passed, Mr. Murray 
Oresen worth had been warmly welcomed by the sporting 
element in the county, and he soon found himself a 
welcome guest among the country squires. One of these 
was a certain Captain Lane, who, for some reason or 
other, appeared to greatly dislike De Montford, and 
one day, from idle curiosity, perhaps, Mr. Oresen worth 
jokingly asked his new friend why he was so bitter. 

Because I know the man is a villain !” was the quick 
reply— ‘‘and Oresenworth, should be the one to 

know it before it is too late.” 

“ Why, what do you mean by that?” says the unsus- 
2)ectiug Murray. 

“ I mean,” answers the captain with emphasis, “ that 
your wife is in love with De Montford, and you are so 
blind that the only nfan in the country who doesn’t 
know of it is the lady’s husband. If you want proofs I 
can give them ! Here is a letter which fell into my 
hands, fortunately, and which is proof positive that De 
Montford and your wife are more than mere friends.” 

Mr. Oresenworth at first is furious with the captain for- 
daring to attack his wife, whom he loves and trusts, but 
at the sight of a letter in Elra’s handwriting, evidently 


AN- UNHAPPY HUSBAND. 


179 


written to De Montford and couched in tender language, 
such as it was impossible for a woman to use except to 
her husband or lover, he allows himself to be convinced, 
and thus unconsciously becomes the tool of the men into 
whose hands he is ready to play. IsTot only is the letter 
shown him, but a receipt for a large sum of mouey, its 
acknowledgment by De Montford, and love and thanks 
to his darling Elra. 

This last document sets fire to the kindling mass of his 
resentment, and, without a word to his unsuspecting 
wife, Murray Cresen worth hurries up to London and 
holds a consultation with his lawyer, preparatory to 
taking steps for a divorce. 

In the mean time the ladies at the Grange, all un- 
suspecting of the danger which threatens one of them, 
pursue the even tenor of their accustomed life, now 
brightened by the presence (to Topsie at least) of Roan- 
wood Offington, who seems to find his quarters at the 
Grange so comfortable that he is loath to tear himself 
away. He has noticed, however, a certain restraint and 
avoidance of him exercised by that young lady, and, man- 
like, the more he is repulsed, the greater his ardor in 
pursuit of his object. Some days have now passed, Mr. 
Cresenworth is still absent from home, and Roanwood 
Offington is stopping at the Inn Bramber, as he is fully 
determined to have a satisfactory interview with Topsie 
previous to his departure from those country parts. 
With this end in view he enters the library one morning 
at a time when he knows Miss Topsie is usually to be 
found there, and taking a book, and a seat in a distant 
corner of the room, calmly w^aits for her appearance. 

It was true that Topsie had purposely avoided him, for 


180 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


sbe could not fail to notice Lis growing admiration^ which 
Lad soon deepened into love; and she dreaded an ex- 
planation wLicL she felt would Lave to come sooner or 
later, if once she allowed herself to listen to Lis words. 

Mr. Offiugtou is beginning to grow weary of Lis en- 
forced retirement from the cheerful fireside, for the days 
were now cold enough to warrant the luxury of a bright 
wood fire on the hearth, when he hears at last the sound 
of voices ill the hall, and xiresently Topsie enters the 
room alone, and running to the fireplace with a little 
shiver, throws herself down on the rug before the cheer- 
ful blaze. 

Here the gentleman with the dexterity of an old hunts- 
man quietly stalks his prey, who, unconscious of his pres- 
ence, is gazing into the bright flames with a sad and 
troubled look on her young face. 

penny for your thoughts,” he says gently, at last, 
and the girl gives a great start while the color rushes to 
her cheeks as she looks around in evident confusion. 

She sees it is Mr. Offingtoii and knows that her hour 
has come, for there is a look of determination on that 
young man’s face which tells her instinctively that she 
must give her answer now. 

I am glad to find this erpportunity of speaking to you 
alone (with emphasis upon the word) before I go. You 
have so evidently avoided me, and been so constrained 
in my presence lately, that lam almost fearful of speak- 
ing to you now, but I cannot leave the Grange, dearest, 
Avithout a word from you. Can you not say that word, and 
bid me hope that I may one day claim you as my wife? 
Topsie had risen to her feet and now stood facing him with 
downcast eyes, and lips that trembled as she whispered, 


AN UNHAPPY HUSBAND. 


181 


Please say no more ) I must not listen to you— yet.” 

Then you do bid me hope, my darliug,” he cries, 
eagerly trying to seize her hand. 

Yes ! if ever the clouds are cleared away,” she mur- 
murs, and with one look of radiant love and hoj)e she 
tears herself from his arms and hurries from the house. 

On her way through the gardens she hears Elra’s voice 
calling, and hastily drying her tears, she turns to meet 
Mrs. Cresen worth, who comes to her with an open letter in 
her hand and a look of anxious bewilderment on her face. 
“ Just listen to this new freak of my husband’s,” she says 
to the girl; “ he writes me saying, ^ am I prepared to ad- 
vance any good reason why he shall not institute pro- 
ceedings for a divorce against me V I know Murray’s 
jealous nature too well by this time, but I never thought 
he would dare- to be so insane as this. What can he 
mean ?” 

But here Topsie suddenly drags Elra into the shade of 
some shrubs to avoid meeting two men who are walking 
in their direction, and they recognize De Montford in an 
earnest and amicable discussion with his erstwhile hater, 
Captain Lane. 

do not know why I so distrust both of these men,” 
says Elra, after they have passed — “I never feel safe 
when they are anywhere near.” 

Your instinct telis you right,” says Topsie, pale as 
the colorless roses at her throat. Heaven help you if 
you lie in their power, one of them at least will know no 
mercy.” 

And Elra knows at last that Hugo de Montford it has 
been who has wrecked her loved Topsie’s life. “ He is 
a friend of my husband.” 


182 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN 


^^Then,” says Topsie, reflectively, I see it all — it is 
be who bas worked you wrong with your biisband! I 
feel it, I am sure of it, for some purpose of bis own, and 
Heaven befriend you, Elra F 




CLAZf IN ROSE AND GRA F. 


183 


CHAPTER XXII. 

CLAD IN ROSE AND GRAY. 

It is Thursday — a brisk winters day — and a day of 
surprises it proves to be for more than one family in 
the neighborhood of Ravenstowe, for what begins with 
a comedy of errors may end before long In a tragedy ! 

That terrible condition of misery and discomfort called 
house-cleaning is being carried on at the dower-house, 
now occupied by the dowager Marchioness of Ripdale 
and two of her elder daughters; and the ladies have 
been driven from one room to another, from the dining- 
room to the hall, where. they are now occupying the win- 
dow-seat looking out on to the wintry avenue. 

I wish ma could regulate things better, and not have 
everything miserable for the short time that we are 
home,” snapped Psyche; and though you may think I 
speak of a little dog, I refer in reality to a gaunt maiden 
lady, written of in Debrett as fifth daughter of Edred, 
Marquis of Ripdale, and of his wife Lenora. 

^^Pm sorry for you, my dear,” says the dowager lady, 
tartly, but you are not obliged to stay, Amabel, and I 
can manage to exist without you ! I suppose you think 
do not feel the inconvenience as well as yourself.” 

Lady Psyche was heard to mutter crossly to herself 
to the effect that the dower-house was not a cheerful 
place, that she felt her usual attack of rheumatism ap- 
proaching, as she walked away from her mother and 


184 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


sister to reconnoitre the premises and see if her room 
was stili in a state of chaos. 

What a temper Psyche has/^ sighs the dowager — 
always finding fault; this is not Ripdale Castle, with 
its retinue of servants! By the way, Amabel, when did 
you last hear from Artrale 

I showed you her last letter,’^ answers Amabel, who 
is as fat and lazy as her sister is gaunt and restless ; 
“ she mentions Lenore.’^ 

^^Oh, indeed!” says Psyche, joining in the conversa- 
tion, and what does she say about her f I really think 
Artrale ought to know better than to even mention her 
to us ; though she was our sister, she has disgraced the 
family, and 1, for one, never wish to see her again.” 

The dowager sighs; but Psyche continues: I al- 
ways thought Lenore was a little mad, her mind always 
leaned towards the startlingly eccentric. DonT you re- 
member, ma dear, when she caught those two little mice 
and harnessed them to the toy steam-engine, and allowed 
them to run away with it Such peculiar ideas in any- 
body else would have been accounted insanity !” 

Here she is interrupted by the entrance of a maid-ser- 
vant, who comes to ask her mistress what is to be done 
with the contents of a large oaken bureau, which is to be 
relegated from the lumber room to one of the apartments. 

“ It^s full of papers, my lady, bills and such like, or law 
papers maybe,” says the maid. 

Oh, burn them, Hester ! answers the dowager indifier- 
ently, but Amabel suggests that they should first be 
looked at, and the maid retires, returning presently with 
her apron full of musty-looking papers, which she de- 
posits on the hall table as requested. 


GLAD IN ROSE AND GRA Y. 


185 


Where did they come from says Psyche, gingerly 
touching the dusty documents with the tips of her 
fingers. 

The old bureau was bought two years ago, at a sale 
from the vicarage ; these must belong to Mr. Grey most 
likely.” 

“ Here is a strange document,” says Amabel with 
interest, and it looks like a marriage certificate !” 

Show it to me,” says her sister, and the two unfold 
the paper and commence to read it. 

^^It is a marriage certificate,” cries Amabel, excited- 
ly 5 here, let me read the names. Why — Lenore Alles- 
mere and Hugo de Montford ! It cannot be,” she gasps, 
it can’t mean that Lenore is really married !” 

Let me have it !” says the dowager, imperiously; 
this must be some trick ; I will never believe it; after 
these long years to find that Lenore was really married 
to that man!” But when the document is in her hand 
she sees at once that AmabePs words are true. There 
stand the two names, though the corner of the register 
has been torn carefully away, and the name of the 
clergyman is missing. 

Girls, this matter must be seen into at once,” cries 
the dowager, in great agitation ; “ this document must 
be placed before that man, and he must be made to con- 
fess whether this be true or no. Poor lost Lenore 1” 

Here is the very man we want,” says Amabel, from 
her post by the window-seat. “ Dr. Warder, mother, is 
now coming up the avenue; let us tell him, and ask for 
his advice.” 

The good old family doctor is soon put in possession 
of the astonishing revelation made by the old bureau, 


18G 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


and he is intrusted with the precious paper with which 
to confront De Montford. 

“ No time is to be lost/^ he says, as he hustles into his 
long' overcoat. ‘‘ Give me authority to meet the fellow 
with this in my hands, and I will soon know whether 
the villain has all this time been deceiving that poor 
child or no. For all your sakes,^^ he adds, I pray that 
this piece of paper will win back your sister; though, if 
she were really married to that man. Heaven help her, to 
be in the hands of such a scoundrel P 

He forthwith loses no time in calling at De Montford^s 
cottage, and finding that gentleman out, resolves de- 
terminedly to repeat his call on the morrow. 


“ A note for you raiss/^ says Anatole, entering the 
drawing-room at the Nest late that same afternoon, and 
handing his young mistress a suspicious looking three- 
cornered letter, which Maudie seizes on with joy, recog- 
nizing her dear marchioness as the writer thereof. Oh, 
mamma !” she says, after hastily glancing at the contents, 
“ her ladyship wants me to meet her at the ruins at four 
o’clock, and have a good ^ spin on the downs,’ as she 
calls it. I am so delighted that she has kept her promise 
of returning to Kavenstowe in the winter, and of course 
I will meet her. We may be late, so don’t wait for me, 
but have your dinner at seven as usual.” 

Then Miss de la Eoche hurries to her room, and having 
donned her bloomer costume, according to directions, 
she sallies forth to meet her friend at the ruins. 

Maudie is first at the rendezvous and has to wait some 
minutes before her ladyship appears, but she is used to 
this, and knows that she mustn’t grumble at whatever 
it may be her friend’s caprice to inflict upon her. 


CLAD IN ROSE AND GRA V, 


187 


Hello, Maudie 1’^ says the new-comer, “quite on time, 
as our transatlantic friends say. I told you I would be 
here again, and after three days at Eavenstowe with my 
elderly sisters-in-law, to say nothing of a gouty, dyspep- 
tic husband, I thought a smart run across country would 
do me good, and clear the cobwebs from my brain j more- 
over, I want to talk to you, and to find out all I can about 
the beautiful Mrs. Eldmere, or Mrs. Cresenworth, which- 
ever it is; she interested me that day when I saw her at 
your house, and I believe you know something about 
heiV^ 

Maudie was only too willing to tell all, and more than 
she knew about the fascinating lady who had robbed her 
of Sir Gregory's attentions, and the two set off at a 
smart trot through the fields, which the marchioness de- 
clared led, by a short cut to the downs where the “ spin’^ 
was to be taken. 

But, as often happens, the short cut proved a long one ; 
and having leaped small brooks, clambered over fences 
and gates, and made themselves both hot and tired, they 
at last emerge onto the high-road again, where they sit 
down to rest on some stones, and to consult as to what 
is best to be done. 

“ I believe we are lost, Maudie P says her ladyship in 
great glee; she looks as calm and cool as when they 
started, and is a great contrast to her poor friend, who 
is still i)anting from her recent exertions. 

“ What fun that would be ! I haveif t an idea where- 
abouts we are, so let us sit and wait here till something 
turns up.^’ 

Presently the stillness is broken by the sound of cart- 
wheels, and a gypsy caravan comes slowly down the road. 


188 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


Tied to one of the vans is a poor hungrydooking dog, 
and when the marchioness catches sight of his woe- 
begone face and drooping tail, a wicked little thought 
flashes through her mind j and going up to one of the 
men she asks, abruptly, Will you sell me that dogF 
Yes, my lady,'^ the man replies with a. grim smile of 
humor; he is a fine watch-dog, and a high bred un, 
but, being a lady, I will let you have him for a half 
sovereign I He’s worth a deal more,” he continues, 
thinking perhaps he has not been greedy enough. 

Well, here is your money, my good man, and at the 
same time I want a penny rattle, one of those wicker 
toy things.” 

‘^Maudie, you shall go shares with mo in this,” she 
whispers ; “ I mean to have no end of fun. Ho you think 
that animal could possibly be made to run, even with a 
rattle tied to his tail? if so, we can both have great di- 
version for a ha’penny, a penny being the price of the 
rattle, and I won’t charge you for the dog.” Maudie is 
well used to her friend’s vagaries, and is willing to sub- 
mit to all she proposes, though to tell the truth she is 
now thoroughly tired, and onl^^ wishes herself at home 
again. 

The dog and rattle being paid for, the caravan moves 
slowly on, and the two ladies are left in solitude again. 
The marchioness has tied the animal to the fence and is 
now engaged in endeavoring to fix the rattle to one of 
his extremities, which he resents with a low growl, and 
Maudie, who is terribly afraid of all strange dogs, stands 
watching in an agony of fear, as she is not sure if she 
will be asked to hold the brute or not. 

“It’s getting very late, isn’t it?” she remarks, timidly; 


CLAD IN ROSE AND GRA V. 


189 


Lad we not better wait till another day ? I am sure we 
must be miles from home.’^ 

suppose we are, or at least you are,” says her 
friend, coolly, “ and I mean to take a drive in the next 
conveyance that comes along. Why, here is the very 
thing,” she continues, mischievously, as a small cart, 
commonly called a kreel, is seen approaching. In this 
kreel is some clean straw, and lying on the straw are 
some half dozen little pigs, who blink and wink and 
squeal at intervals. The marchioness stops the bundle 
of rags which directs the footsteps of the donkey who 
draws the cart, and after a short i)arley room is made 
for the two ladies in its interior, and in spite of Maudie’s 
protestations she is forced to mount and take a seat be- 
side the pigs, while the dog is tied to the back of the 
cart, and is dragged an unwilling victim in their wake. 

“What fun!” says her ladyship, looking round with 
intense amusement depicted on her face, partly at Mau- 
die’s disgust, partly at the novelty of their position. 

“ These horrid pigs 1” says the girl, plaintively, 

“ They won't hurt you, missie,” answers the old crone^ 
“They is as knowing as can bej look for all the world^ 
the impudent little things, as if they could tell fortunes.” 

“ Here is a carriage coming,” cried Maudie, in a tone 
of despair. 

“All right,” tuck your head down,” says her friend, 
boldly, and the next moment a handsome phaeton and 
pair is driven rapidly past. No sooner is it out of sight 
than the marchioness gives vent to a peal of silvery? 
laughter. “ Hid you see them ?” she asks. “ My lord 
and master, whom I left at home suffering from an 
attack of gout and temper, driving with a fair unknown! 


390 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN, 


This will suit me finely I How glad I am we were hid- 
den here.’^ 

Was it really your husband F says Maudie, in an 
awe-struck tone. 

None other than the noble marquis himself. I told 
him I might be going up to town to day, so I suppose he 
thought it was a good opportunity. I declare, Maudie, 
we are having a lovely time this afternoon, and if it were 
not so late we might have the dog chase after all.” By 
this time, however, the sun had set, the shadows were 
lengthening, and both ladies began to feel ready for their 
accustomed meal, so it w'as decided that the dog should 
be reprieved till the following day, and that they should 
leave the kreel at the next farm-house, where the old 
crone told them the pigs were to be delivered. 

It’s quite nigh the Grange,” she said, to Maudie’s 
delight, as she saw some prospect of reaching home 
that night, for the Grange and the Nest were within a 
mile of each other. Just then the cart turns a bend in 
the road, and reveals the figures of two people, a lady 
and gentleman, standing just in front of them. With a 
gasj) of horror Maudie recognizes He Montford and Mrs. 
Gresenworth, and buries her unfortunate head in the 
straw as she whispers the same to her companion. As 
they pass them in the growing dusk the marchioness 
notices that Mrs. Gresenworth is clad in a long gray 
cloak, richly embroidered and trimmed with beads and 
feathers, and as she turns, apparently to dismiss He 
Montford with a haughty gesture, they hear her say, 
I must beg you not to come any fiirther — I am going 
into these cottages— so I will wish you good-bye.” 

They watch her as she walks smartly up the lane 


CLAD IN ROSE AND GRA Y. 191 

towards the farm-house, and, before entering, see her 
loosen her rich cloak, which she hands to a little girl 
who is standing near the door, for she is going in to see 
a sick woman, and knows by experience that the interior 
of the cottage is neither clean nor comfortable, and that 
the windows have not been opened all summer. 

If Maudie has recognized Mrs. Oresen worth it was the 
keen eyes of the Marchioness of Eipdale which first saw 
De Montford, and by the time Elra Oresenworth enters 
the cottage door she has formed a plan which she at 
once proceeds to carry into execution. 

Maudie,” she says, in an imperious way, I am going 
to leave you, but don^t dare to move or speak — watch 
me, and follow me at a distance after I have spoken to 
De Montford j” and the next moment she has sprung 
out of the cart and is walking towards the cottage. 
When she reaches the door she says quietly to the girl 
who is still waiting there, 

Give me my cloak, child f and, handing her a shil- 
ling, takes the garment from the astonished little maiden, 
and throwing it around herself, walks quickly down the 
lane to where De Montford is still lingering, as if loath 
to tear himself away. She has found a thick lace veil in 
one of the pockets of the cloak, and, having tied this 
over her face, she trusts to be able to pass for Mrs. 
Oresenworth without detection. They are both tall 
women, and the marchioness is a good actress, so she 
has no fear of successfully duping De Montford, especi- 
ally as it is now so dark that it would be impossible to 
distinguish features. 

De Montford gives a^start of surprise when he sees the 
supposed Mrs. Oresenworth returning so quickly, and he 
comes forward at once. 


192 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


‘‘ I am afraid you found your invalid out or be 
says, significantly,^^ and now it is too dark for you to 
walk alone 5 may I not olfer you an arm 

To bis surprise bis arm is at once taken, and, is it bis 
fancy, or does Mrs. Cresenworth press it gently as she 
murmurs a reply? Can it be that she relents, and after 
such a cold and stubborn resistance, has at last fallen a 
victim to bis seductive looks and words ? 

^^But it’s always the way,” thinks this conquering hero 
complacently, these great beauties give in to one in the 
end with a much more startling brevity than their less 
sought sisters!” and deeming he has his grasp on the 
beautiful, coveted, forbidden fruit, he passes his arm 
gently around her waist, and draws her to him, and is not 
one whit surprised when she secedes and comes to him 
with very little resistance, but with what he deems an 
hysterical little sob. He endeavors to search her eyes, 
but these are strictly averted, and for fear lest so mag- 
nificent a prize should slip from his grasp, he deems it 
his best plan to strike while the iron is hot. 

^‘My darling,” he says, ‘^you have consented at last! 
You will come with me, and I shall protect your fair 
name with the last drop of my heart’s blood ! My dog- 
cart is here waiting, and my cottage is not far away 5 let 
me escort you thither, where malice cannot penetrate to 
make your hours bitter. None will dare to molest you 
there ! We shall be safe from all intruders. You will 
come then, dearest one ?” For his only answer he catches 
the sound of a second smothered sob, and it is with re- 
newed pleading in his voice that he says : How un- 
happy you are, and yet how beautiful ! Come with me, 
Elra, and allow my heart’s worship to be laid at your feet, 


CLAD IN' ROSE AND GRA Y. 


193 


to make you happy as the lark that sings in a summer 
sky. Come !” 

The lady seems reluctant to accept his proposition, 
but at last suffers herself to be handed into the dog-cart, 
which is drawn at once in the direction of De Montford^s 
shooting cottage. In the mean time Maudie is chafing 
and fuming at this new freak of her ladyship, though 
she dare not disobey her tormentor, and when she sees 
the dog-cart drive rapidly off, she knows she has to fol- 
low it as quickly as the donkey can be urged along ; 
though she is heartily tired of the present comedy, she 
lias a still greater fear of her ladyship’s displeasure. 
Very little conversation takes place between the occu- 
pants of the dog-cart. De Montford can scarcely believe 
that this is really ElraCresen worth by his side, but though 
her face is veiled, he recognizes the long graj^ cloak she 
had been wearing 5 and the marchioness, scarcely trust- 
ing herself to speak, except in whispers, holds her head 
down and pulls the lace veil still further over her face. 
On their arrival at the cottage a man steps out of the 
shadow, and coming to the side of the dog-cart, whispers 
a few words to De Montford which make him bite his 
lips and change color. 

“Wait here,” he says in a hurried whisper to the un- 
known, as he hands Mrs. Cresenworth from the carriage. 

“Here we are, dearest. You are quite safe now. 
Wait one little moment while I see my agent, and then I 
will be with you.” So saying he hands the lady into the 
house, and, locking the door carefully behind her, puts 
the key in his pocket. A brief, sharj) battle of words 
ensues between the two men outside, and then De Mont- 
ford reluctantly mounts his dog-cart, the stranger taking 


194 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


the seat beside him, and drives off in the direction of the 
Manor-house. 

Maudie and the donkey-cart have by this time made 
their appearance, for in spite of the old crone’s assurance 
to the contrary, she has insisted on being driven in 
pursuit of De Montford. When they reach the cottage 
Maudie hears her friend’s voice calling to her, and, look- 
ing up, sees that lady standing at the window of a room 
above, and jumps down, much relieved, from off her bed 
of straw. 

You can’t get in,” says the marchioness, who seems 
to be enjoying it all hugely. “ The door is locked, and 
you will have to climb in at the window. Look about 
and see if there’s a ladder handy that will help you.” 

Maudie obediently looks about, and finds an old lad- 
der leaning against a tree in the little garden. This she 
brings to the window, and, putting it in position, pro- 
ceeds cautiously to mount the steps. All goes well till 
Maudie nearly reaches the top 5 then there is a crash and 
a scream, and the frail support gives way under her 
ample weight. But she is at the window-sill, and the 
marchioness, catching hold of her, drags her into the 
room. Then, realizing their ludicrous position, she flings 
herself into a chair and bursts into a peal of laughter. 

Well, you’re a friend in need,” she says, as Maudie 
goes to the window and ruefully gazes at the ruins of the 
ladder, which are reposing in a heap on the flower-beds. 

“ Now that you have removed our only means of exit, 
we shall have to remain here all night, I suppose, for the 
door is locked, and 1 don’t mean to break my ankles by 
a leap from that window ; so we must stay here and 
make the best of it.” 


THICKENING, DARKENING, CLOUDING, 195 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THICKENINa^ DARKENING, CLOUDING. 

After De Montford has driven away in the direction of 
his cottage, with Mrs. Oresenworth by his side, an angry 
head is thrust over the hedge along which she has just 
passed with her companion, and a few muttered oaths are 
heard. 

vow by Heaven,” says Murray OresenworWs hoarse 
voice, she will make a fool of me no more ! She will 
have to reap the reward of her treachery and her sin. I 
shall stay proceedings no longer.” 

His loud tones have the effect of scaring a few little 
rabbits close by, and he sees a very red tumbled head of 
hair peep from a warren lower down, and the next mo- 
ment the legs that belong to the head are scampering 
affrightedly across the fields towards the Grange; but 
poor Mr. Oresenworth is too preoccupied to care how 
many little bundles of rags he may have the pleasure of 
seeing bowling along in that direction. 

^^I had come to offer her a last choice between honor 
— with a sigh— or dishonor. She has chosen the latter ; 
and — she was my wife !” 

This was said as sadly as a man might speak who re- 
signs all right to happiness henceforth, for Murray well 
knew that his wife had been the very light of his eye 
and life of his heart, and that his existence without her 
was a void. 


190 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


He loses no time in despatching a boy on horseback to 
the nearest telegraph station with the following despatch, 
written by him in feverish haste lest his resolution should 
fail : 

Finish up proceedings, and let the journals be ap- 
prised as ordered. 

(Signed) Murray Cresenworth.’^ 

A long night of agony he spends in a room of the inn 
at Bramber, and daybreak finds him up and about again, 
glad to put away the horrors of a night unequalled in 
suffering by anythiug he has been through in his pre- 
vious life. 

Had he, however, been in the mood to notice any- 
thing that night, he might have seen two men enter a 
room ill the village inn, not so very far from his own ; 
and he would have recognized He Montford in the one, 
while the other we will describe as the stranger who 
had so inopportunely interrupted He Montford^s tete- 
a-tete with the fair lady of his heart. 

There is evidently a dispute between the men, as loud 
angry words are spoken by them, which have some re- 
lation to a large financial scheme that one of them has 
in hand. 

“ It would be bad, would it not,” says the stranger, in 
mocking tones, to let them know of that embezzling 
matter practised upon your father-in-law — by whom we 
shall not say?” 

“ Hold !” cries He Montford j “ who is my father-in- 
law ? tell me that.” 

People would not confide large sums to the keeping 
of your banking concern, would they ?” continues the 
stranger, not noticing the interruption. 


THICKENING. DARKENING, CLOUDING. 197 

impudent blackmailing scheme,” rages De Mont- 
ford 5 I know your purpose, you cowardly rascal, but 
you will find that the law can gag you sooner than you 
might desire !” 

“And the man you shot — ” 

But here ensues a violent altercation between the two 
men. At first De Montford is proud and overbearing 
in manner and speech, but by degrees, helped by the 
stranger^s powerful arguments, ho assumes a milder tone 
and is at last forced to yield, as those who knew his 
haughty nature did not think it possible for De Mont- 
ford ever to have done. 

But Cresen worth notices nothing, and next morning 
disdaining breakfast, he mounts his horse, impatient to 
call at the post-office for any mail that the morning may 
bring. The post-mistress hands him a telegram from 
his lawyer, which had evidently crossed his of the pre- 
vious evening, but which had not been delivered earlier 
to Cresenworth, owing to no particular address being 
given. It contained the words : 

“ Divorce granted yesterday at 2.59. Morning papers 
will corroborate. 

“ (Signed) Clarkson, Byfe & Clarkson.” 

He staggered ever so little when he read the message 
— it was so strange — so unexpected — so soon. What 
though he himself had ordered his lawyers to proceed 
with the utmost despatch in the matter? 

It is finished then, and a beautiful woman, once noble 
as she was beautiful, has been trained at my wish through 
the slough of the Divorce Court ! Poor little Elra ! your 
sufferings have begun.” 

Touching with his lips a glass of some strong stimu- 


198 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


lant, he mounts his horse in a dazed way, and rides 
down the frost-hardened road towards the Grange, not 
knowing what new developments Fate has in store for 
him— just as the hale and hearty man goes forth in the 
morning and sees not the death’s-head that hovers round 
and follows him to his fate. 

If we go back but a few hours, and follow the appari- 
tion that bad rather startled Murray Oresen worth by 
popping at an inopportune mdment from a rabbit bur- 
row and shooting off in the direction of the Grange, we 
shall find the same strange apparition arriving at its 
destination in haste that is more hot and hurried than 
graceful. 

Alone at the Grange, and feeling her nerves rather 
shattered from all she has lately learned, Topsie retires 
to bed (though it is still daylight), under orders from the 
doctor, where a strong injection of morphine is adminis- 
tered. 

You must be kept quite quiet for a few days, my dear 
young lady,” he says, ‘‘ and then I hope you will be feel- 
ing yourself again.” 

Ere she lays her head on 4;he pillow, however, for a 
much needed sleep, her room is suddenly invaded by 
Daddy Dolan, who has been watching outside duriug 
the doctor’s visit, and on his departure makes her way 
into Topsie’s room and rushes to her bedside. 

^^Oh, Miss Topsie, dear!” she half sobs, “are you 
going to die? I saw the doctor here, and thought maybe 
he was murdering you, and I having so much that I must 
tell you !” All this is said in a burst of grief from Daddy, 
whose devotion to Topsie is well known, and who is a 
privileged intruder at the Grange — so that the girl’s 


THICKENING, DARKENING, CLOUDING. 199 


presence in the house did not cause much astonishment 
or curiosity. Topsie had been in the habit of teaching 
her young protegee, and though the result has not yet 
been great, she knows she has won a hiithful and trusty 
friend in the poor neglected, simple-minded country girl. 

What is it Daddy ? tell me dear,” she says, as Daddy 
continued to sob, her head buried in her apron. What 
has happened 

I was in the rabbit warren, miss, a while ago, sitting 
on the bank a-thinking of nothing when I see that bold 
black man a coming down the lane ” (this was Daddy’s 
name for De Montford, whom she cordially detests for 
some reason or other). I crouched down for him not 
to see me, and then I heard voices talking, and one was 
a lady’s. I didn’t listen, miss, but I couldn’t help hear- 
ing what they said; leastways he spoke so loud and she 
in whispers.” 

What did they say % tell me,” cries Topsie, sitting up 
in bed with wide open eyes, “tell me. Daddy, quickly!” 

“ They whispered some first, and then he says: ‘Well, 
come with me noxGl everything is ready, my carriage is 
waiting, and we can soon .be at my hunting cottage, safe 
from all intruders ; they will never think to look for you 
there; come, my darling!’ The lady seemed to be saying 
‘ No’ at first, then he persuades her some more, and they 
go forward and get into a carriage and drive off; she 
seemed to be frightened somewhat ; leastways she cries 
out ‘No ! no! how can I trust youf But he whips up 
the horses and off they go ; then I comes across to tell 
you, miss, and on my way I meets the poor gentleman^ 
Mr. Cresenworth ; he must have been there and heard it 
too ; and she such a pretty lady !” 


200 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


Who was it?” almost shrieks Topsie, seizing the girl 
roughly by the arm. 

“Why, Mrs. Cresenworth, miss! I told you there was 
no other lady as I see.” 

With a wild cry Topsie flies from her bed, all thought 
of sleep is dashed in a moment from her mind. She 
hurries into her riding habit in hysterical haste, and 
orders Irish King to be instantly saddled with the child^s 
basket saddle which had been recently purchased for 
little Miss Offington. The paddle has a high back, 
rather like a chair, and to this, as she mounts her horse, 
she has herself bound (in a moment of strange inspira- 
tion) by a leathern strap. The next instant she is dash- 
ing rather wildly down the sweej) of lawn towards the 
tower gates. 

Mrs. Oresenworth, returning a little later, hears from 
her maid that Topsie is out riding, and is satisfied with 
the explanation of her absence, until finding it grows very 
late and there is no appearance of Topsie she becomes 
alarmed, and is rendered doubly so on being told of the 
dose of morphia administered to that young lady in the 
afternoon. It is therefore in, a sad state of alarm lest 
the young horsewoman may have been overtaken sud- 
denly by the effects of the narcotic, that Mrs. Cresen- 
worth orders a search to be made — of which, however, 
nothing comes. 


BY TISDALE BRACKEN. 


201 


CHAPTEK XXIV. 

BY TISDALE BRACKEN. 

Dolan, go and attend to those earths j see that they are 
stopped,” said Sir Gregory that evening as jumping from 
his horse he ran briskly up the stone steps leading to his 
well appointed bachelor’s abode. 

’ Pon my soul,” cried he, irritably, looking round the 
old halls, hushed in gloom and silence, must get mar- 
ried to enliven this old tomb! How sweet and bright 
that little Eldmere could make it all for me. I wonder 
will she have me when I ask her ? or more, 1 wonder will 
she even give me the chance of taking her prim little 
hand in mine and proffering my request ? By my faith if 
she doesn’t — ” and here, to signify the strength of his 
fierce intentions in case of such trying circumstances, he 
quaffed a full goblet to her honor, for which act of ap- 
preciation she would no doubt have felt flattered and 
grateful, particularly had she seen him stagger a little 
towards the comfortable settee in front of the cheerj^ log 
fire and stretch himself there, the while murmuring her 
praises in very thickening speech, quite oblivious to the 
important fact that his Mrs. Eldmere had been claimed 
by another man. 

^^Poor master, it isn’t his fault!” said the long limbed 
daughter of the red-haired Hibernian, Dolan ; it isn’t his 
fault. She had him worked up to that same, and sure 
she must be a heartless thing, for master he be the 


203 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


grandest — ” and forthwith her thoughts revert to last 
Michaelmas, and the largesse slipped in her hand by the 
master of the manor, accompanied with a — well, we won’t 
mention, for the sake of that dignity which I have heard 
affirmed (rightly or wrongly I dare not say) belongs inva- 
riably to scions of the old, old stock. Be that as it may, 
the recollection of it made the cheeks of the fair Hiber- 
nian grow a little pinker under the freckles, and it made 
her feel justly indignant against any ^^rediculous stuck 
up thing” who might affect to despise the master she 
chose to champion. 

What could she want better f’ asked she scornfully. 

She thinks she has it, but she hasn’t, that’s sartain, 
the poor crathur.” 

Now this daughter of a red-haired race boasted, besides 
freckles, a true womanly heart, even if it was inclined 
to admire in her master what she considered was the 
highest type of manly beauty, and everything else besides 
that was good and noblest in her estimation ; but that 
did not i)revent her being a sensible, comfortable, ever^'- 
day, commonplace girl — one who never indulged in day 
dreams, although she did commit the folly of giggling 
when ‘‘the master” had slipped something in her hand, 
accompanied with a — well, it is not fair, and I won’t tell 
what ! 

She, Miss Dolan, also rejoiced in several names, and 
among others the soubriquet of Daddy Long Limbs 
(translated legs) was her especial property, owing to her 
peculiar length of nether limbs; and this particular 
evening, when the master of the manor was hapj)y in 
his rather maudlin dreams concerning his hard-hearted 
goddess, there came a ringing cry through the yard at 


BV TISDALE BRACKEN, 


20S 


the rear of the manor ; Daddy ! Daddy Dolan ! come out 
if ye want to see for yourself sich sport — and quick.’^ 

The long-limbed maiden, with dishevelled hair flying 
in the wind, rushed out at what she deemed a very ir- 
resistible appeal from the small boy Dolan, her brother; 
for she knew it meant that there were rats and terriers 
in the wind, or rather in the yard, ready for any number 
of exciting encounters. 

Fadder is goin’ for to stop the erts, so if we sneak 
and make no noise, we can have the rabbits to oursefis, 
and steal a march onknownst to de ole man. Daddy doan 
yees be like a girl and make noise like a girl, its silly ; 
and if yees doan we’ll have roas’ rabbit on de quiet.” 

Daddy of the long limbs had a lingering fondness for 
rabbit cooked in this outlaw fashion, so she vowed in a 
piteous way that she would not be a bit like a girl, and 
that she would sneak, and, positively, ^ake no noise ; 
whereat they started for the fox and rabbit coverts, tak- 
ing care to sneak” at a careful distance from Dolan 
the elder, who preceded them by the length of about a 
field. 

It was a moonlight night, and once within the shadow 
of the woods the lit^Je outlaws diverged into a track of 
their own, with their eager terriers throttling themselves 
ill their detaining arms, in rebellious endeavors to steal 
off for a scamper and a tear after the timid little rabbits. 
At last, and only when they believed themselves fairly 
out of ear-shot of their revered parent, they gave them- 
selves unreservedly to the intoxicating pleasure of 
slaughtering any foolish little beast who was simple 
enough to stand and play until caught and worried to 
death by Boxer and Foxer. 


204 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


Of these there were not many, indeed I do not think 
any timid rodents gave them the opportunity of roas’ 
rabbit” that night j but for all this the little Dolans 
were enjoying themselves to the top of their bent when 
Boxer struck up a low wailing howl, a long keening,” 
such as dogs are wont to indulge in when death is hov- 
ering around a house. In a moment the piercingly sad 
note was caught up by Foxer, while the Dolan children 
stood rooted where they stood, prevented by a paralyz- 
ing fear from articulating a syllable with their trembling 
lips. The climax came in the trampling of a horse’s hoofs 
on the mossy turf, and scarcely daring to look at the 
dark figure which, distinct in the moonlight, loomed 
above them in the saddle, they turned with as genuine 
a howl of terror as even their beloved Boxer or Foxer 
had been capable of and faced for home, scampering all 
the way. There* they arrived, to their astonishment, in 
safety, and I do not think that ever after they cared ex- 
actly to disturb the gentle little rabbits on moonlight 
nights. 

Had they stayed in the woods with their parent they 
might have heard still more weird sounds while that 
person was applying himself diligently to the stopping 
of the earths. Two of these had been securely fastened 
against the matinal return of the fox, when suddenly he 
had occasion to whistle for his dog. This was a noble 
greyhound, black as coal, neatly and cleanly built, and 
fleet of limb ; the pride and delight in fact of the sport- 
loving Hibernian, who never went anywhere without his 
much esteemed canine companion. But to-night, al- 
though he would not have sacrificed his dog’s compan- 
ship, he could not help thinking, with a slightly uneasy 


BY TISDALE BRACKEN, 


205 


feeliug, for be was a superstitious man, bow weird and 
ghostly appeared tbe spectre-like bound, as in and out 
of tbe tangled undergrowth of tree and shrub be glided 
with noiseless foot-fall. When, therefore, tbe bound drop- 
ped himself suddenly prone on tbe earth a few paces 
ahead of him, and stretched his limbs and tail to a stark, 
rigid stiffness— the while setting up so partly fierce, part- 
ly dismal a howl — the right-hand man of Sir Gregory 
Athelhurst, in a moment of nervousness, seized his 
double-barrel breech-loader, and in an instant had his 
finger on the trigger. 

Not a moment too soon, he told himself, had he placed 
himself, on guard, for down one of the open glades inter- 
secting the woods came a horse at full gallop, which 
gave him but scant measure of time to spring aside, as 
with frantic speed the animal tore on through the woods, 
hushed till now in the still midnight. The moonlight 
flooded his pathway, and in the moment when he had to 
spring aside so deftly or be trampled upon, Dolan had 
caught sight of the flutter of a lady’s riding habit. 

<^Be krapes! who can be out in the woods this awful 
hour?” he cried angrily to himself, although his teeth did 
chatter a bit — and a lady too, who ought to be warm and 
snug in her little bed at home j but it’s a sorry trick, and 
I wouldn’t choose to be the lady,” he concluded, scorn- 
fully, feeling indignant enough to hold the said lady up 
to the ridicule and gossip of the whole country around. 

However, he did not have much time to plan ven- 
geance, when a sudden and appalling thought froze his 
blood. She might be a sperret, the Lord presarve me ! ” 
Whereat his teeth fairly rattled in his head, and his 
knees shook beneath him. However, these meptal ter- 


206 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


rors were mild to those which seized him a moment later, 
making his blood freeze, and leaving him entirely unde- 
cided whether he was suffering from an attack of de- 
lirium tremens, or whether he was really standing in 
the moon-flooded woods by Tisdale Bracken, for through 
those woods rang out clear and wild and full of music, 
in the dead stillness of the midnight, a cry which made 
the woods resound, from end to end as it were, with the 
thrilling blast of the huntsman^s bugle, as he puts his 
treasures, the fox-hounds, into covert to begin their 
search for their appointed prey. 

Hi, get in there 5 get in, get in ! Fow you’re on him, 
brave fellows, my beauties, now you’re on him 5 Neptune, 
get in there. ’Ware, hound !” This last ejaculation being 
emphasized by the loud cracking of the huntsman’s whip, 
and then there followed a startlingly ringing cry of 
“Tally-ho! tally-ho! tally-ho! gone aw-a-ay !” accom- 
panied by a long and cheery blast of the horn. 

Echo answered echo from the neighboring hills, until 
the silvery tones were caught and hurled back from the 
old tower walls of Bramber, rousing the answering call 
again into mocking life amid the stillness of the slum- 
bering woods, until at last, in weird ripples of bell-like 
notes, it died away in the dells, leaving all things steep- 
ed in solemn repose once more. Eerie the whole thing 
was, and savoring highly of the supernatural, in theopin- 
of Dolan, whose cap refused to lie any longer on his 
bristling hair, and with the assistance of which he was 
fain tp dash some beads of moisture from his brow. Had 
he been capable of framing a few thoughts on the occa- 
sion, he would have quickly built up a pretty little ro- 
piance, and told himself that the “ leddy was out for a 


207 


BV TISDALE BRACKEN. 

lark.” But with the demoniacal sounds of huntsman’s 
whip and horn ringing through the woods, there was 
nothing could persuade the solitary terror-beset Dolan 
that the figure on horseback was other than that of a 
“sperret,” and when next the wild black horse came 
careering down the wind, dashing full upon him as 
though he himself owned a spirit’s claim to invisibil- 
ity, Dolan stepped aside, and raised his gun to his 
shoulder. He knew that the horse was a valuable one, 
and that there was nothing of the spirit about it, but the 
figure sitting so straight in the saddle, what was it? 
This was what Dolan wished to glean, when, raising his 
breech-loader to his shoulder, he took deliberate aim. The 
report rang out as the unknown horsewoman dashed by, 
and Dolan saw by the large tear in the flimsy veil that 
the shot had struck her over the ear, glancing off, then in 
the direction of an old oak, where it lodged, and was 
afterwards found by Dolan. Of the bullet having struck 
her Dolan was certain. Judge, therefore, of his surprise 
when, without a groan or even a sound escaping her im- 
movable lips, and sitting erect as ever in her saddle, she 
continued her reckless course through the woods. But 
something more than mere horror was now running 
through Dolan’s mind, for in the moonlight he had seen 
the lady’s face. 

“ Krapes, it’s the ladj of the Grange or her sperret !” 
and Dolan jpere scurried home just as precipitately and 
about as gracefully as had his long-limbed daughter 
earlier in the night. 

Confoundedly awkward this prejudice in the Hibern- 
ian mind against harmless spirits,” thought Sir Gregory 
next morning on hearing the ghostly story. ‘‘I myself 


208 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 

would not mind being beset by half a dozen supernatu- 
rals, but here is this blockhead, Dolan, will never stop 
the earths for me in future, because a horse galloped by 
him in the dark, which is deucedly stupid.” But so it 
was for years after, Dolan could scarcely be coaxed out- 
side his doors when once darkness had fallen, and more 
especially did he shun the glories of a moonlight night, 
for he had seen and could affirm with his dying breath 
that it was moonlight nights that the spirits most af- 
fected. 

The next morning — after Dolan had seen a ghost — 
dawned intensely cold. The hunting men at the Manor- 
house, looking at an early hour from their windows, be- 
held a spreading expanse of white, frost-covered fields, 
hard and stern enough to defy any ray of sunshine to 
soften them to-day, and they turned from the view with 
a disgusted whistle and the exclamation of No hunting 
to-day I” Daddy Dolan, who has spent most of the night 
out-of-doors, sliding on various little sheets of ice that 
came in her way — which pastime she would not miss for 
anything — ^has called early at the Grange, and finding 
that neither Mrs. Oresenworth nor Topsie had spent the 
night there, she becomes alarmed, and stands thinking 
for some moments with her mouth open. The deter- 
mination, she then comes to may be described in the man- 
ner she puts it into action. After one or two wise nods 
and grunts she suddenly takes to her heels and runs as 
hard as her legs can carry her, till, out of breath and di- 
shevelled, she arrives at the Manor-house, and rushes 
into the breakfast-room, where Sir Gregory and Butlaud 
Borradale are enjoying their morning meal, reading the 
newspapers and cursing the weather alternately. Dad- 


J5V TISDALE BRACKEN. 


209 


dy^s appearance, like a bombshell in their midst, consid- 
erably startles both men, and Sir Gregory swears a little 
as he asks impatiently : 

‘‘ What the deuce does Daddy mean by this inoppor- 
tune appearance 

The girl pants for breath, and then rushes into her 
story with incoherent haste. 

‘‘I knew as something were going to happen,^^ she 
says, for a many things had warned me this last night. 
Pat and I were out in the woods, and we see the stran- 
gest being riding on horseback, while the crazy hunts- 
man followed, crying, ‘ Tally-ho 1 tally-ho P It were 
neither man nor woman,” says Daddy, dropping her 
voice to an awe-struck whisper; it were a spirit, and 
Pat and me felt our flesh creei) when it flew past. They 
seemed to be riding towards the Grange, and maybe it 
w'as a token, for the ladies is missing, both Mrs. Oresen- 
worth and Miss Topsie, and the Lord knows where they 
may be by this time, with wild horses and crazy hunts- 
men after ^em.” 

What under heaven do you mean, girl, by all this 
rigmarole ? Speak out and tell the truth !” thunders the 
baronet. 

It’s the truth Pve told ye,” Daddy answers, sullenly. 

The ladies are missing. They haven^t been seen at the 
Grange since yesterday, and were not there last night.” 

This news greatly alarms Sir Gregory, who, leaving 
his breakfast unfinished, rushes out to have a horse sad- 
dled, leaving Eutland Borradale alone in the room with 
the girl. 

ISTo sooner is Sir Gregory out of sight than Daddy rubs 
her hands together with delight, and says to herself: 


210 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


^ knew that would bring him out. He thinks a pow- 
erful deal of the ladies, but what would he say if he 
knew that Mrs. Cresenworth is running away with that 
bad man, De Montford V’ 

Mrs. Cresenworth — De Montford I” says Eutland 
Borradale, in a horrified whisper, catching hold of 
Daddy. Tell me what you mean, girl F 

Just what I say,” answers Daddy, wrathfully. 
can’t tell you no more, as I don’t know no better than 
you do. What with ghosts and missing folks, I’m that 
dazed I don’t know nothing to-day, and that’s a fact.” 

This is all Eutland Borradale can extract from Daddy, 
and so he, too, has his horse saddled and roughed, and, 
springing upon his back, he gallops him across country 
in the direction of De Monttord’s cottage. 



DONE ONCE— DONE TWICE! 


211 


CHAPTER XXV. 

DONE ONCE — DONE TWICE !” 

At He Montford’s cottage in the early morning a dain- 
ty head protrudes from a small lattice, and two hand- 
some laughing eyes are coquetting with the duller ones 
of the ploughboy, who, supposed to be engaged at that 
hour in weeding the flower-beds on the terrace, is in- 
stead gazing with open eyes and mouth — into which his 
goddess has already shot three little missiles of dust and 
water — at the unaccustom edly lovely vision above him. 
Suddenly, however, to the surprise of the ploughboy, 
the head of his enchantress disapiiears very quickly, 
and looking around for the cause he sees the master of 
the cottage approaching in company with a stranger. 
Finding himself taken as much notice of as if he were a 
shrub or a stone, he stays to overhear some significant 
words spoken by the stranger in a dry, meaning voice. 

What has been done once, my dear fellow, can be 
done twice 5 we shall see if you have duped the lady, or 
if the lady has not duped you 
Ere they have time to turn the key in the lock, how- 
ever, they are precipitately joined by Sir Gregory Athel- 
hurst, arriving from one quarter in a painful state of 
manly alarm for the safety and well-being of his admired 
one, and a moment later, from another direction, by 
Murray Cresen worth, who looks feverish and purple about 
the eyes, as he comes to seek for he knows not what har- 


212 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


rowing confirmation of bis wife’s guilty shame. It is 
early morning yet, and intensely cold, as the four men 
stand on the threshold of De Montford’s shooting cot- 
tage, which is, by common consent, to be the next mo- 
ment ruthlessly invaded. 

Sir Gregory precedes his friends, and by doing so re- 
ceives a greeting ovation in the shape of a solid mass of 
treacle on just the right part of his bald head! Next 
comes De Montford, who divines that the penalty in- 
flicted upon his #forerunner is meant for him, but whose 
emotions are too powerful to allow him to smile j and 
lastly comes the determined-looking stranger and Mur- 
ray Oresenworth. A little scream and a succession of 
giggles are heard, and a suppressed cry of “ Mon Dieu, 
quelle horreure !” and when the men emerge from the 
gloomy stairway into the sunlight of the room they see 
a very charming sight, but one which nevertheless has 
the effect of petrifying De Montford as he gazes, spell- 
bound, at the apparition of the two ladies, who have 
evidently shared the priva<iy of his apartment. Hitherto 
throughout all that has been happening he has held his 
head very proudly, as that of a conqueror, for he has had 
reason to tell himself that the one being who to him was 
worth all things else was waiting for him at his cottage, 
and could not be torn from his arms. But now his 
head almost sinks to his broad chest with aggravated 
rage and disappointment; he clinches his hands and sets 
his teeth, for he sees it all — how he has been duped; 
and, moreover, he now tells himself he will have to strain 
every power of his ordinarily active brain to extricate 
himself within the next hour from the tangled meshes he 
finds hampering him on all sides. 


DONE ONCE— DONE TWICE! 


213 


Flung carelessly over a chair he sees the costly mantle 
which he knew was owned by Elra Cresen worth (another 
such, to his knowledge, was not to be found in Paris or 
London), and in whose folds of silken gray and rose he 
had vainly imagined himself to be gathering in his arms 
the beauty and wealth and worth he would give half the 
world at that moment to own. 

Standing beside the chair is a vision of dainty piquant 
loveliness attired in Tam o^ Shanter cap and silken sash 
and kirtle, such as the hardy Highlanders wear, and 
which made no effort to conceal a finely moulded limb, 
while at a little distance, farther in the shade, was 
what appeared to be another figure clad in the same 
costume, rather a caricature upon her companion. 

If De Montford had been startled by the revelation 
thus made to him, Murray Cresenworth^s sensations upon 
learning the true state of affairs can better be imagined 
than described. As the truth flashed upon him he was 
able to comprehend the full meaning of the situation, 
and, with a low groan of agony and despair, he buried 
his face in his hands. 

Here the marchioness breaks into a ripple of malicious 
laughter as she sees Maudie’s evident mortification, and 
notes with delight the tragic faces of the men before her. 

Maudie, tell the gentlemen what a royal time we 
have been having,” she says. “ Is not the suspicion of 
wickedness often a much more palatable and enjoyable 
ingredient than mere wickedness itself? It is so much 
more spicy and so much more dangerous. How, although 
Maudie and I have borne our misfortunes with the sanc- 
tity of angels all night (we caught a rat to while away 
the time), I have no doubt that if my husband— dear 


214 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


little Gupid, you know! — were to insinuate his fat limbs 
up that narrow stairway and see me here, he would cer- 
tainly be unkind enough to knock one of you gentlemen 
down or to shoot another ! As for me, he would get a 
divorce this very day if he only knew he could get it 
annulled to-morrow.” 

She says this with a quick look at Murray Oresen- 
worth and then laughs softly to herself, for that gentle- 
man has been writhing beneath her words, and is now 
calling for a glass of water with all the helplessness of a 
fainting woman previous to sinking on a chair, with an 
uglj^ ashen-gray look about his mouth and eyes, while he 
holds a hand to his side, as if he suffered pain in the 
direction where he had been shot. 

For a moment no one speaks j but the painful silence 
is broken by Sir Gregory, who whispers something to 
De Montford, and then goes out to fetch the needed stim- 
ulant for Mr. Cresenworth, while De Montford looks in 
vain for the stranger, who, somehow, has evidently con- 
trived to make his escape, as he is nowhere to be seen. 

Here he is,” thinks De Montford, with a sigh of relief 
as a quick, heavy footstep is heard upon the stair, and 
the next moment the Marquis of Eipdale comes upon the 
scene, to find himself face to face with — his wife. 

Blie calmly smiles as she surveys the intruder, who, 
with a furious look, grunts out a series of oaths be- 
tween his teeth at the gentlemen around j and turning 
to his wife with as disgusted an air as Napoleon might 
have worn when at a ball he told his sister, who was 
dancing in full dress, “Pauline, go and put on your 
ch — s— e I the Marquis of Eipdale exhorts his spouse to 
cover her limbs a little more, and not to show so much of 


DONE ONCE— DONE TWICE! 


215 


her shapely ankles. Whereat she robes herself in the 
lovely gray cloak which has been the innocent cause of 
all this trouble, and with a sprightly air of extreme in- 
difference she takes leave of Maudie, and is about to 
gain the stairway, but in passing by the window she 
glances out and sees so strange a sight that her excla- 
mation of surprise brings the other occupants of the 
room at once to her side to see, in their turn, two horse- 
women, one rather in advance of the other, careering 
aimlessly over the hill that protects the back of the cot- 
tage from the northern blast. All crowd to see it save, 
indeed, De Montford, who has quietly slipped from the 
room, ordered his horse to be saddled, and springing 
across his hunter^s back, has, in an incredibly short 
time, gained the side of one of the ladies who had been 
seen from the cottage window. But he is not unfollowed. 

^^My business here is not ended yet,” mutters the 
stranger before mentioned, as coming up with De Mont- 
ford he overhears that worthy, with all the telling elo- 
quence of desperation, pleading for Elra’s love, very 
much as if he were pleading for his own life. He hears 
him cruelly urge upon her her bitter position as the di- 
vorced and despised wife of Gresen worth ; he urges like- 
wise upon her that it had been with his name she had 
been compromised, through no fault of hers, of course, 
but that fact a malicious world will not credit; and he 
concludes by entreating her to silence all bitter tongues 
by becoming without delay his loved, respected and 
adored wife. Elra listens to his words in silence for 
some time, and then suddenly pointing to the other lady 
on horseback at a little distance from them, whose figure 
her eyes have never wandered from, she says, quietly : 


216 


HER PLA Y THINGS, MEN 


You shall have the only answer worthy your loyalty 
and devotion when we hold yonder lady^s horse by the 
bridle.” Her manner was so softly, dangerously sweet, 
with so much alluring languor in her eyes, that De 
Moiitford could scarce trust his senses, and dared not 
indulge in the swift hope that shot through his frame, 
making life turn to a rose-color once more for him. 

Oh, if it could but be !” he thinks, distractedly, and 
carrying her gloved hand reverently to his lips he kisses 
it with a fervor which he gladly thinks must have im- 
pressed Elra, as she turns quickly from him. My sov- 
ereign queen, command me unto death,” he whispers, 
ere breaking into a gallop they follow up the unknown 
lady on horseback. 

Scarce five minutes later the stranger, who had been a 
silent witness of the above scene, was startled by the sud- 
den appearance and wild air of a younger horseman on 
the ground, who asks him, in breathless tones, Elra — 
De Montford — where are they ?” 

Gone to the railway station yonder, I presume,” re- 
torts the stranger, coolly i)ointing towards the retreating 
figures of the two equestrians. 

Powers of heaven, if that be true, he’ll die first !” 
and driving the spurs savagely into his horse’s flank, he 
strikes across the fields rather wildly after them. 

“Her spirit is perhaps crushed, poor little soul, and she 
may even do this in her desperation. Oh, for a hand to 
help her ! Shall I be there in time ? Can I possibly 1” 

This is said in horror, as he sees the railway cars cir- 
cling along like a serpent in the valley, within ten min- 
utes’ course from the halting-place, and he looks over the 
fine wide fields of stubble and turnip ridge, besides the 


DONE ONCE— DONE TWICE! 


217 


yawning ditches that he must put behind him ere he 
can arrive in time to save his loved one from her immi- 
nent danger. He puts spurs to his horse, and with an 
encouraging word cheers on the noble brute to show his 
mettle now or never. On they go, at a mad gallop over 
fields and hedges, till they reach the last obstacle which 
separates them from the road beyond. Here, alas! they 
are less fortunate, and Borradale perceives when too late 
the mass of ice which, slippery as a sheet of i)olished 
glass, is waiting to receive them. He clears the fence 
with a tremendous leap, but as his horse^s hoofs strike 
on the glittering ice he stumbles, and falling heavily, 
with a dull crash, rolls helplessly, like a log, backward 
into the dark yawning ditch behind. In his frantic 
struggles Borradale knows that it has fared badly with 
his gallant horse, but he has not time to help him out in 
his distress. 

Poor noble brute ! you have saved my angel ! no 
breath can touch her stiiy^ he cries. But he was not a 
moment too soon. Tlie train had drawn up to the platform, 
and He Moutford, after a word of coldly received entreaty, 
becomes desperate. Fearless of consequence he has now 
placed his arm on her waist, and is drawing her forcibly 
along. Appalled by this unlooked for danger, Elra can- 
not force back the little shriek that is startled from her 
lips, and which begs very eloquently for manly assist- 
ance in her hour of need. In another moment De Mont- 
ford finds his arm struck more roughly and forcibly than 
politely from its position about Elra Brookley^s waist, 
and turning he encounters the flaming eyes of what he 
considers a madman. Then, while they are amiably 
looking at one another, the train passes on. It is well 


218 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 

that the two men have not much time for lengthy con- 
versation for they are both stammering with rage, when 
Dr. Warder, with De Montford^s strange companion of 
the morning beside him, drives up alongside them, and 
following timidly, as it were, comes a horse down the 
road, at sight of which Elra wrings her hands. ^^Itis 
Topsie ! quick, quick ! catch her horse 1’’ 

The animal that had evaded all pursuit by Elra dur- 
ing the morning appeared now in rather an exhausted 
condition, and, having once come within range, was cau- 
tiously circumvented by the gentlemen’s united efforts. 
Dr. Warder seizing the bridle, and with an exclamation 
of horror, and have come too late!” leads the horse 
close to Elra. 

Dearest Topsie, speak!” cries that lady, aghast at 
the deathly pallor of the girl’s face, the starkness of her 
limbs, while from those around her burst exclamations 
of ^ Who is she?’ ‘Dead!’ ‘Can it be?’ ‘Topsie!’ 
‘As I live. Lady Lenore Allesmere 1’ 

“ Quick, Warder, for the love of Heaven save her ! 
save her !” 

“Is this, indeed, Topsie, and have I come too late?” 
says a new arrival on the scene, and turning they see 
that the group has been joined by Koanwood Oflington, 
with rather a distracted look in his eyes. 

“I fear,” says Dr. Warder, solemnly, “we have all 
come too late. Lady Lenore de Monfford is, if I mistake 
not, far beyond our assistance.” 

“ De Montford !” “ De Montford!” “De Montford!” 
is repeated around in all the tones of the ascending and 
descending scale. 

While this conversation has been taking place, the 


DONE ONCE— DONE TWICE! 219 

doctor has been busily engaged in loosening the straps 
that bind Lady Lenore to the saddle, and, while Elra is 
placing some cordial to her lips in a vain hope, the phy- 
sician turns to the assembled group and says, warmly : 

‘•Yes, gentlemen, this cruelly calumniated lady has 
been all these years the wife of that hrave man yonder!’^ 
^nd he scornfully indicates De Montford, “ as may be 
seen by her marriage certificate,* and now help me with 
those cords on the far side !” 

So saying, he hands to Elra a paper, the reading of 
which strikes a great wonder into her soul. Turning 
to her erstwhile suitor, she says, in icy tones : 

“ What greeting has De Montford for his lost bride 

De Montford looks at her as coldly contemptuous 
as a man who appreciates her mental powers as very 
small. 

“Yarns — if you will excuse me — he retorts, “are 
believed by mere women, but a man must see the signa- 
ture of the officiating clergyman before he begins to be- 
lieve anything so impossible as this stupid concoction 
and to himself he thinks, “ So that is the trick that was 
practised on me that night. I bad feared something of 
the kind, but it will avail her nothing. Part of the cer- 
tificate is lost anyhow.’^ But suddenly he remembers a 
little piece of torn paper which he had seen in Mrs. 
Cresenworth’s possession, dated and signed by the Bev. 
George Grey, and which might very well answer for 
the torn corner of the certificate before him j and even 
though the wife with whom he has so suddenly and 
unexpectedly been confronted has the every appearance 
of a corpse, De Montford loses a little of his assurance. 
Suddenly a happy idea seems to strike him. He is will- 


220 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


ing to accept Lenore as bis wife, since public opinion is 
so strong on that point, and be thinks of a passage in the 
last will of the late Marquis of Eipdale, bis wife’s father, 
in which, to his beloved daughter Lenore was left the 
sum of £30,000. By Jove!” he thinks to himself, ‘‘ it 
cannot be possible that you have had a wife’s capital at 
your command all this time and did not make use of it.” 

Eoanwood Offiugton had listened in silence to the doc- 
tor’s explanations, for he can scarcely realize the full 
extent of the misery it has brought him. That Topsie’s 
real name is Lady Lenore, and above all that she is another 
manh wifej seems to him impossible of belief. In the 
mean time the doctor has disappeared, but some one has 
caught the words Frozen to death while still under the 
influence of the morphine,” dropped from his lips, as, 
gathering the stark form of Lady Lenore in his arms, he 
carried her towards the station-master’s little cottage, 
and once in its cosy rooms, dismisses all useless attend- 
ants and spectators, while using all the means in his 
power he applies restoratives. 

Outside the cottage the conversation in the group 
waxes loud and stormy. 

My wife, indeed ! So that was the trick practised 
on me by clever Lenore Allesmere, was it 

Don’t dare to breathe her name, you in— or I’ll 
knock you down 1” and the stranger steps towards him 
menacingly. 

Knock me down for speaking about my wife? I’d 
like you to remember that I have the right to demand of 
you why you mention the lady. As for me, with regard 
to her, I speak and act as I choose, without consulting 
you.” 


DONE ONCE— DONE TWICE! 


221 


Will you says his straoge friend of the previous 
night, as he closed his mouth with an ominous snap. 

I will, if it so please you, my lord,” retorts De Mont- 
ford, caustically". To begin with, my wife’s £30,000 will 
go immediately to capitalize the little scheme you are 
interested in.” 

“ IsTaturally,” laughs the other, ^^when you get it be- 
tween your fingers.” 

^‘You will see how quickly the law of England will 
enable me to touch my bride’s dowry. A dead wife is 
ready money, you know,” he says, rubbing his hands 
softly together. 

“ Before you avail yourself of the wealth at your dis- 
posal, you ought to learn a few facts which will enlighten 
you as to the way in which you stand with regard to your 
wife.” 

Here the stranger dashes off into a recital which holds 
his listeners spellbound. 



222 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

“brave little heart.” 

I was a clerk in a London bank, and bad returned to 
witness the ceremonies and festivities which were to fol- 
low the nuptials of our own Lady Artrale Allesmere and 
Redstone, Earl de Brun. The marriage had not been 
announced publicly, as the family were in mourning, but 
that would not prevent the people on the e-state from 
celebrating it in jovial fashion. So I had got off from 
duty on a four days^ holiday, and intended to share in 
the fun, while I stayed with my father, who used to be 
Jack, the Valued huntsman of the old Marquis of Rip- 
dale, but was now superseded. What happened to me 
then on the night before the wedding was this : 

Standing in the shrubbery, under the pale light of a 
young crescent moon, which was slowly rising in the 
heavens, I overheard De Montford’s conversation with 
Lady Lenore : 

“ W^here is Artrale 

“Xot to be seen to-night.” 

“ That is not true. I must see her, if I have to brave 
it all and walk into her father’s library to demand her. 
I start for Brussels early in the morning, and as I love 
her tenderly, and have no intention of trusting to her 
changeable disposition, I mean to have the ceremony of 
our promised marriage performed this very night, even 
if I have to spill my heart’s blood for it.” 


BRAVE LITTLE HEART. 


223 


Then,” says Lenore, after a pause, during which she 
has sought to gain time, your last letter should have ar- 
rived earlier, for Artrale, having had a previous engage- 
ment at the ‘Firs^ for the masquerade ball to-night, 
•went there this afternoon in time for an early dinner.” 

‘^Kot doubting your word, of course,” retorted De 
Montford coldly, fearing a ruse, but being quite deter- 
mined to see and speak with Lady Artrale this night, if 
even in the presence of her assembled family, I shall 
beg your excuses for passing on towards the castle, or 
may 1 hope to have your escort 

His determination evidently strikes rather a chill to 
Lady Lenore’s heart, for it is in a slightly unsteady voice 
that she replies : “As you do not credit my words, per- 
haps you will believe this,” handing him a note in Lady 
Artrale^s handwriting. This confirms what has already 
been told him, and at the end of it are the words, 

“ I wish so much to see you, if only for a short while, 
and nothing will please me better than to have you come 
to the ball to-night. Pray be there, just to please your 
little Artrale, whom you will recognize by repeating 
twice the word Adelaide to the lady wearing tlie colors 
which are enclosed in my letter. But on speaking to me 
you must promise to call me by the name of ‘Adelaide.^ 
Yours, in haste, Artrale.” 

De Montford pauses as he finishes reading the note, 
and with a dark look at Lenore says, brusquely, “ I sup- 
pose you are ready to corroborate what is said in this 
letter ?” 

“ Yes,” says Lenore bravely, thinking of the danger 
which threatens the lifers happiness of her sister. 

“ Then come with me, seek out your sister at the ball, 


224 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


you will know her dress better than I, and bring her to 
me. If she be not there I shall return without delay to 
her father^s house and demand fulfilment of her promise. 
Will you come now F 

Lenore grew paler under the moonlight, which was 
now bright, and hesitated, as if these may have been her 
thoughts : How can she save Artrale % What shall she 
say to this man who is so sternly bent upon the destruc- 
tion of all her sister’s present joy and happiness? What 
would her fianc6 say to find that his future bride had 
promised towed another, had even now arranged to meet 
him upon the very eve of her wedding day? The in- 
timacy so lightly begun, the intrigue so thoughtlessly 
entered into by her careless sister, where had it brought 
her ? And then the proofs, her letters, were still in De 
Montford’s hands I The next moment she had made a 
desperate resolve. 

Seeing her falter, De Montford coldly lifts his hat 
and advances towards the house. I will come,” she 
says ; and he turns, upon hearing her voice. 

So you are ready to answer for the truth of this 
letter? Then come, we lose time,” and he hands her into 
his waiting carriage which is driven rapidly away. 

As they drove off I stepped from out of the shadow ; 
an overpowering curiosity, mingled with a desire to be 
on hand if my respected Lady Lenore should require my 
help, impelled me to follow them. I never had much 
hard cash in those days, but what little I had went to 
hire a horse and light wagon, and in a short time I too 
was on the road leading to the Firs. Arriving there, 
after some little delay, I had no difficulty in tracing 
De Montford, whom I saw in earnest conversation with 


BRAVE LITTLE HEART. 


225 


a beautifully robed lady ; but, in the meantime, the fol- 
lowing events, as I learned afterwards, had been happen- 
ing: 

Lady Lenore, on arriving at the Firs, had at once 
hastened to the dressing-rooms, where, by the means of 
some judicious bribery, she had been enabled to robe 
herself in the disguise of a monk^s cloak and hood ; and, 
with the latter w’ell drawn over her face, to escape recog- 
nition, she joins De Montford in the shrubbery ; and, 
leading him to one of the ball-room windows, which is 
left invitingly open, to give air to the crowded rooms, 
tells him to stand in the shadow of the palms and ferns 
which decorate this egress to the garden, and she will 
send Artrale to him. She plunges in among the crowd 
of dominoes. Having gained the greatest crush of the 
dancing-room, she exclaims, in a loud, well-heard whis- 
per, Adelaide! Adelaide!” but nothing comes of her 
little ruse, and going still farther in the crowd she re- 
peats it. This time it was crowned with the following 
success : A lady, clad in the most delicate shade of 
lavender, trimmed with a richer, deeper purple shade, 
tinged here and there with red, impersonating clouds 
at sunset,” turns quickly towards what she imagines to 
be the form of the man who had challenged Adelaide. 

^‘What will you with Adelaide?” she murmurs as 
softly as music from the harp-strings. 

That Adelaide will follow me,” says the unknown, 
still in a whisper, and presenting her his arm he leads 
the way through the crowded rooms to the open window's 
by which De Montford stands expectant. 

During their progress through the crush the monk 
has, unseen by his companion, managed to fasten to her 


226 


HER FLAY THINGS, MEN. 


shoulder a kuot of ribbons similar in color to those which 
had been enclosed to De Montford in Artrale’s fictitious 
letter, and, with a sign in the direction of De Montford, 
the monk bends towards her and whispers ; 

A devoted slave of yours, he, and longs to lay his 
heart at your feet,” and so saying, disappears. 

This rather amuses me. I must carry on the farce,” 
thinks Adelaide. But my voice may not answer unless, 
indeed, I have so hoarse a throat as to have it unrecog- 
nizable for that of any particular person. Yes, I shall 
have the iufluenza, and that very severely.” In the con- 
versation that follows she delights her adorer every short 
while with a mournful frog-like croak, which, notwith- 
standiug its beauty, elicits great sympathy on his part. 

De Montford, standing outside the windows, had begun 
to doubt whether he was not on a fooFs errand, and had 
repeated in his thoughts many unspellable, naughty 
words, when, suddenly catching sight of the knot of 
colors similar to those he wears, he springs forward with 
the challenge, Adelaide! Adelaide!” and this being, 
to his delight and surprise, answered as he had hoped 
for, he had straightway poured a volume of impas- 
sioned words into his companion’s ear. The lady in 
question is rather dazed at first by the fervor and (to 
her) incoherency of his earnest pleading but entering 
into the spirit of what she considers ^^an intrigue en- 
tirely worthy of a masquerade,” she appoints a spot in 
the grounds to meet the unknown,” as she terms her 
ardent admirer. 

The rendezvous is to be at midnight, and on her way 
back to the cloak room for a wrap she meets a friend to 
whom she divulges the little plot. 


BRAVE LITTLE HEART 


221 


If you want- to be amused, my dear,’’ she says to 
that young lady, come with me.” 

Where do you propose to go F asks her friend. Lady 
Muriel, cautiously. 

To the vicarage, dear,” 

‘‘ This cold night, and why f’ 

To be married, of course,” laughs Adelaide. You 
may scarcely believe it, but I have an admirer whom I 
never discovered before ” 

And his name ? I fear you are very wild, Adelaide,” 
says her friend, laughing also. 

That I shall find out in goodtime. Bet you half a 
cookie he never finds out my name, though. Wild, you 
say ? What can I do, dear, if the poor, crazy fellow is 
so deeply enamoured^ The unhappy man is awfully in 
earnest, and would think nothing of shooting himself, 
and me in the bargain, if I did not consent on the in- 
stant. He wants to be married just here to-night, 
nothing else will please him, and to fall in with his 
humor I intend to go through with the ceremony, so 
here goes. Come along and see me married, dear,” she 
says, with a dry humor and gleam of mischief in her 
eyes that fairly startles her companion. 

But your husband 1” she gasps, although at the same 
time she is intensely amused at this wild project. 

Hear Cupid is at this moment vastly enjoying him- 
self in his way, and 1 can’t see why I mayn’t have a 
little fun on my own account. He is now discussing 
ortolans, surrounded by some of the prettiest and most 
rajud of our beauties, and I am sure not even the an- 
nouncement that his wife has eloped with a dark un- 
known would for one moment trouble his digestion, or 


228 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


interrupt his little amours with the fair ladies who con- 
stitute his court. 'No ! I mean to see this through^ as I 
believe the whole thing will prove vastly entertaining, 
and my being already married adds a piquant flavor to 
the romance.” 

Are you not afraid of being recognized suggests 
her friend, who is evidently more cautious than herself. 

Do you think it possible to recognize me for any j^ar- 
ticular person ?” she cries, removing her domino and 
displaying a head and cheeks swathed to the very eyes 
in cotton wool. “It is fearful to be growing old, but I 
must only bear it, and fight my hardest against cold, 
cough, influenza, sore throat, bronchitis, and rapid con- 
sumption, all of which I am at present suffering from. 
However, before the night is out I intend getting some 
of Uriah Levies sarsaparilla, and I shall be instantly 
cured of everything.” 

The young lady evidently seems impressed with her 
frieud^s capabilities as an actress, for she makes no fur- 
ther remonstrance. They both depart together to find 
the gentleman of the colors at the appointed place of 
meeting. 

He is there in waiting, and hurries them off to the 
vicarage close by, where a hasty ceremony is performed 
without interruption, save for an occasional little giggle 
from the heavily veiled bride. 

At the conclusion of the service the wheels of a car- 
riage are heard on the road outside, and De Montford, 
looking at his watch, exclaims : 

“It is even later than 1 thought; I must leave you 
now, my darling, but shall come to claim my own within 
two days.” Then he would have lifted the veil which 


BJ?A VE LITTLE HEART. 


229 


shrouded the face of his new-made bride, but she drew 
back with a little scream and gesture of refusal, and evi- 
dently wished to avoid a caress. 

‘^Always wilful, he whispers, but the next time we 
meet you will give me what you deuy me now.” 

Not wilful, dearest,” replies in hoarse tones the happy 
bride, “ but it is my neuralgia, which is so painful that 
to have my head touched is torture indeed, dearest 5 but 
all that will be for next time, as you say.” However, he 
cannot part without some kind of caress, and pressing 
his lips tenderly to her uncovered brow, he whispers, 
with infinite compassion, ‘^You are in pain, dearest! 
how I wish I could stay to alleviate your sufferings.” 
So saying he jumps into his carriage and cries to the 
coachman, ^^To the nearest station — like lightning!” 
and is gone after having signed his name to the marriage 
papers. In the meantime the name of Lenore Allesmere 
had been written down by that lady herself as a sub- 
stitution for that of the bride, while Adelaide had glided 
from the room. This substitution of signatures being 
unnoticed by the clergyman in the confusion of the 
bridegroom’s departure, the reverend gentleman pro- 
ceeds to exhort the bride to be a dutiful and loving wife, 
and promises to forward the certificate of her marriage 
within a few days. 

Her reply rather staggers him. “ Ho not trouble, the 
certificate will be valueless to me.” 

Ah!” he says in great surprise. Evidently you are 
very young and inexperienced or you would know the 
worth of a marriage certificate !” 

You can keep it then until I want it, since it may 
prove more valuable than I had thought !” and, with 


230 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


many thanks to the good minister, the rather hilarious 
bride and her chaperoning friend take their departure 
back to the ball-room, to indulge in Lem^s sarsaparilla to 
cure her cough, cold, etc. 


Lady Lenore, whom I had not once lost sight of during 
all this time, seeing that her sister’s future happiness 
was at last quite safe, suffered me to escort her on her 
homeward way. The Hall gates at Eavenstone being 
now closed, however, I invited her to take shelter in my 
mother’s cottage, which she accepted, and was kind 
enough to return to for several nights following upon 
the ball at the Firs. 

^^And behind all this mummery, who was the bride ?” 
bursts in He Montford savagely. 

‘^Adelaide, Marchioness of Eipdale,” says the silvery 
tones of that young and beautiful and thoroughly im- 
prudent peeress. “You were cheated in a bride, He 
Montford. Ha I ha I” But in the mean time the young 
stranger points to where Lenore has disappeared in the 
doorway of the station-master’s cottage, and says, in a 
voice that trembles with emotion : 

“She saved her sister with no thought of self in her 
young heart, and to-day you have seen her dead in her 
youth and loveliness— at rest at last, brave little heart !” 

As the young man finishes his recital Eoanwood 
Offingtoii omes forward, however, and astonishes him, 
for he wrings his hand warmly, almost to the point of 
dislocation of the bones. 

“ To you I owe my most earnest thanks ; you have 
given me a very beautiful, peerless bride. In that cot- 
tage yonder Lenore still breathes, and in my arms but a 


BRA VE LITTLE HEART 


231 


raomeut ago she justified ray thanking you for your de- 
votion. Friends till death, old fellow, and may I have 
tbe chanee of doing as much for you as you have for me.” 

During this little announcement Eutland Borradale 
has been, to Murray Oresenworth’s evident dissatisfac- 
tion, hovering around his goddess, and is very unhappy 
that he cannot soothe the apparent misery depicted on 
her ordinarily bright riante face : in his soul it must 
be said he curses the erstwhile husband who did not 
know how to appreciate the adorable being he had won 
for his wife. While Oresenworth, now more unwilling 
than ever to resign the beautiful prize which is slipping 
from his grasp — especially when he sees that the jewel 
of untold price, which he has spurned, is likely tx) be- 
come the property of another, strikes a bold stroke on 
his last stake and — loses. 

While for a moment Borradale is out of ear-shot, he 
catches sight of Elra standing a little apart from the 
others, with her shapely head resting against the glossy 
shoulder of her horse, and in her eyes he sees there is a 
wistful look, as of a dumb animal in pain. Can she 
then know? Has she heard all?” thinks Murray, and 
bending swiftly towards her, he but dares to whisper 
the one word “Elra!” in a tone so abject that she could 
not help but pity him. “Elra !” he repeats, seeing she 
is silent, have you no word for me ?” 

“ You forget Miss Brookley,” she says, in such meas- 
ured, cold tones that his hopes go down with a rush. 

“Never that for me,” he says, p issionately. “Elra, 
give me one word of forgiveness, of command, of per- 
mission to protect your name, to reinstate it where is 
properly its place, among those of noble women— as I 


232 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


unfortunately alone can do it — and it shall be done with 
my dying breath.” 

But she turns away with scorn on her parted lips. 
^^All England,” she says, “has been this morning advised 
of my— my crime.” 

Ou catching her words a cold moisture breaks over 
Oresenworth’s forehead and the thouglit strikes him that 
the events of yesterday, followed by a harrowing, sleep- 
less night, and clinched by what had very nearly proved 
the tragedy of the morning, have been too much for him, 
and, with his hand to his side, he staggers for support 
against her horse. 

“ Come away, darling,” tenderly whispers Borradale to 
her at this moment, but Oresenworth, with all the dogged 
determination of a man who has never been beaten be- 
fore ill his life, comes quickly to her side. 

“ Blra, stay and hear me !” but here he gasps, for a 
terrible pain has shot through his heart. “ 1 feel I am 
going ; Elra it is in death’s agony that I entreat you 
to be mine once more, my honored wife !” One look he 
cast at her pale, cold brow, one piteous look, as might a 
dog who was suffering death at the hand of its loved 
master, and ere her glorious eyes could solten, ere a word 
of gentle womanly love could tremble on her li[)s, time 
has slipped into eternity, and fear, love, hate mocked at 
her — for Murray Oresenworth, wdth a long, long shiver 
of agony, a stagger and a groan, stretched himself dead 
at her feet ! 

“ Courage !” says Eutland Borradale, tenderly sujiport- 
ing Elra Cresenworth’s form ere she totters against her 
horse. “ My wife! my darling ! now, forever 5 ” but weak- 
ened though she be, she recoils in horror from his touch. 


BRAVE LITTLE HEART. 


233 


Never !” she cries, pointing to her husband^s form 
sti etched stark at her feet. It is by your hand he lies 
tiiere — ” 

Murdered, she would say,” and turning quickly Bor- 
radale beholds the flashing triumphant eyes of Adelaide, 
Marchioness of Eipdale. 

You will never own her,” she pursues, maliciously. 
It was the shot sent home so straight by you that has 
killed him, and she will not marry his mur — 

^‘Adelaide!” he cries, savagely eying the beautiful 
woman he has once loved j but in a moment he is calm 
again and master of the situation. 

That will not prevent me from giving her my heart’s 
adoration and love to my dying day.” 

“ Oh, my God !” comes in a moan from Elra’s lips, 
while Adelaide looks on with a rather disdainful shrug 
of her shoulders. 


‘^Are you Mrs. Oresen worth, madam F 
Yes,” says that lady, rather startled, as she turns to 
the speaker, who proves to be a youth of some eighteen 
summers, who had but a moment ago arrived on the 
scene. 

Then, ma’am, I’ve been charged to deliver you this 
note from Clarkson, Eyfe & Clarkson, and to explain to 
you, in case you don’t fully catch its meaning, that there 
was no divorce granted yesterday in your case. There 
was, it is true, one given between a certain Mr. Gresel- 
wirth and his wdfe, one of whom is a client of your 
lawyers, and Mr. Kyfe, who had prosecuted the case, 
being unable to get back from court to the office, wired 
word to the effect : 


234 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


^ Greselwirth^s divorce granted, 2.59 ; advise him and 
wife immediately — R yfe.^ 

^^The name, transmitted in a hurry, read wrong, and 
thus the mistake which you know of occurred.” 

You have said enough,” Elra answers faintly, ^^you 
have come too late; my husband is beyond learning of 
what has been done.” 

For the physician, having been called from the side of 
Lady Lenore, has officially pronounced Murray Oresen- 
worth to be dead. The old shot-wound he had received 
oil his wedding morning had come against him at last, 
causing a very sudden failure of the heart. 


Here comes your train, De Moutford,” says the much 
injured Marquis of Eipdale, touching that worthy briskly 
on the shoulder, “ and if in six hours ” — taking out his 
watch and looking determined — you are not off English 
territory you will be arrested for — what — you yourself 
best know. Go or stay, as best suits yourself and that 
praiseworthy banking scheme of yours.” 

Bluster, my lord, mere bluster!” says De Montford 
with a proud curl of his lip, but you will find I am no 
coward, and here I stay as long as it suits me to remain 
where I am, indifferent to bullying from peer or pauper.” 

Then you are prepared to answer a charge of forgery 
substantiated by this paper, which you will easily recog- 
nize, as it was stolen by you from the vest-pocket of the 
man whom you shot almost to death for that express end 
two years ago— Murray Cresen worth — and whose death 
now lies, without a doubt, at your door.” 

The marquis holds in his hand the while a piece of 
blood-stained paper, torn at one edge — the very one 


BJ?A VE LITTLE HEART. 


235 


which Daddy Dolan had carried from her fortress of ref- 
uge under the Athelhurst china cabinet, and which she 
had afterwards sold at what she considered a ^‘shinning 
bargain’^ to a stranger who had been kind to her, but 
whom she had considered afflicted with lunacy. 

De Montford, when he sees the paper, grows cold and 
very white, but he is no coward, and though he stands in 
imminent danger he feels he has ground for some hope j he 
knows that a peer of the realm will sacrifice an amount 
of rancor rather than have his wife^s folly and impru- 
dence aired in court — which must eventually be the case 
in this matter of his forgery — therefore he feels reassured. 

With a muttered imprecation, and the words ^^the 
banking scheme must go to the dogs !” seeing he has 
met his master, De Montford does what many a bigger 
villain has done before him, in similar circumstances, i.e.j 
slips into the train and gets quietly out of the way. 



236 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


CHAPTEK XXVir. 

MOONLIGHT ON THE MOUNTAINS. 

It’s no use denying it^ Fortune is a fickle jade ! 

During the early days of his passion for Mrs. Eldmere 
Sir Gregory had never doubted of the ultimate success of 
his suit, and he ha«u begun even to hope he was making 
advances in the lady’s favor, when, through the untime- 
ly advent of Mr. Cresenworth, he found himself ^^com- 
pletely knocked out,” as he described itj and as a solace 
for his blighted afi'ection the worthy baronet betook him- 
self to hard riding and hard drinking, hoping to find con- 
solation in the deep and flowing bowl ! 

One evening when riding home with his friend the Earl 
of Darclilfe (who is himself a black sheep and a boon 
companion of the baronet), after a good day’s racing and 
many iDints of sparkling champagne, they reach the 
Manor-house at a late hour, and Sir Gregory insists 
upon his friend accepting his hospitality for that night 
at least. 

Come in, old fellow,” he says with a boisterous laugh ; 
don’t refuse a good thing ! I can give you such a bowl 
of punch as you never tasted before 5” and as the earl, 
who is also rather the worse for what he has imbibed, 
willingly assents, the two men turn in at the gates and 
gallop up the avenue. Just before reaching their front 
door Sir Gregory’s horse shies violently at some object 
on the road, and lands his master in the middle of a 


MOONLIGHT ON THE MOUNTAINS. 237 

flower-bed at one side of the carriage sweep. This com- 
pletely sobers that gentleman, who picks himself up with 
many groans and bad words, and then goes to see what 
the object may be that can have so startled his tired 
horse — who, to bis knowledge, has never done such a 
thing before, and who is warranted to stand firm at a 
cannon, or a thrt'Shing-machine, or any other foe to 
equine nerves. 

What he finds is a child’s wheelbarrow, full of white 
sand, into which is stuck a goodly array of paper 
flags, and which has evidently been used by the chil- 
dren in some military demonstration. This formidable 
obstruction is planted full in the middle of the carriage 
drive. Sir Gregory silently curses Mrs. Dolan and her 
family as he rubs his shins, and explains to his friend 
that he is not hurt, only bruised. 

‘‘ Confound those brats !” he mutters as they enter the 
house, and then he takes his friend off to his own par- 
ticular den, where we will leave them to ‘^make a night 
of it.” • 

As the result of the latter festivity. Sir Gregory wakes 
next day in a particularly bad frame of mind ; and, as he 
slowly dresses, he thinks of the wheelbarrow of the pre- 
vious night, and resolves to go down and give Mrs. 
Dolan a gentle reminder, both as to the breakfast for 
himself and friend, and the desirability of keeping the 
little Dolans out of his and his horse’s way. He has 
worked himself up to a proper state of mind in which to 
deliver the lecture ; but, on his appearing at the head 
of the stairway leading to the hall, his anger is changed 
into speechless indignation. Mrs. Dolan, who is usually 
the most untidy and dirty of mortals, with a holy horror 


238 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


of water and brushes, has apparently changed in this 
respect, for the hall is now at least two inches deep in 
water, while the 3'oung Dolans, with shrieks of delight, 
are engaged in swimming boats, and . upsetting pails, 
and other diversions. At the sight of their master they 
turn and fly, and he picks his way across the wet hall to 
reach the shelter of the dining-room. Here, too, all is in 
confusion. The carpet is rolled up, the furniture is tied 
and bandaged, and even the mirror and pictures are 
swathed in yellow gauze. 

What the devil does all this meauF roars Sir Greg- 
ory, in a fury, as he rings the bell violently and swears 
in audible tones. Where is that woman F 

“ Do you allude to me, sir f ’ says Mrs. Dolan, appear- 
ing in the doorway, clad in a costume that would have 
delighted the baronet at any other time, but which now 
exasperates him all the more. 

What do you mean by turning mj^ house topsy-turvy 
like this V he cries. Are you mad ? You look it, Pm 
sure !” 

Mrs. Dolan, who is attired in a short gown of doubtful 
color, well drawn up to escape the wet, thus showing a 
generous display of ankles, a calico jacket, and with her 
head tied up in a duster, and a large feather-broom 
in her hand, looks more like an Indian squaw than a 
respectable house servant. But there is the fire of de- 
termination in her eye, and a toss of her head shows her 
master that she means mischief. 

^^Sure iPs yourself tliaPs mad,” she says in reply, to 
take objections to the cleaning. IPs little enough the 
house ever sees, and I thought it would be all the better 
for a touch of soap and water. Sure iPs me that should 


MOONLIGHT ON THE MOUNTAINS. 


239 


complain at the extra work and not yourself. What 
with your friends to stay, and your late suppers and 
early breakfasts, I declare Tm worn to a thread al- 
ready.” 

‘‘That will do, woman P roars Sir Gregory. .“You 
may pack up bag and baggage and leave my house at 
the end of the month — do you hear*? Dolan can stay if 
he has a mind to, but I will not stand another hour of 
this — so now you know. Take down all this rubbish, 
cart away all your pails and brushes, and have break- 
fast ready for us in half an hour.” 

Mrs. Dolan sees that her master is in earnest, and re- 
tires precipitately to do his bidding and revenge her- 
self by falling upon her husband and giving him the 
greatest “ talking to” he has had for many a day; but 
the breakfast-table is ready at the hour Sir Gregory 
mentions, and when the Earl of Darcliffe makes his ap- 
pearance all signs of house cleaning have disappeared 
for good. 

After the meal the earl takes his leave, and Sir Greg- 
ory, who has been silent and taciturn all the morning, 
brooding over his wrongs, accompanies him to the sta- 
tion, and then turns his horses’ heads towards the 
'Nest. Calling in there he asks for Miss de la Eoche, 
and is ushered into that young lady’s presence. 

“ How delighted I am to see you, Sir Gregory,” cries 
Maudie, with eyes of great astonishment at the early 
visit; for since Sir Gregory’s infatuation for Mrs. Eld- 
mere Miss Maudie had been entirely neglected by the 
baronet. “ Mamma is not up yet, she has been suffering 
much lately, but I will let her know that you are here.” 

“Pray don’t do that, my dear young lady,” says Sir 


240 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


Gregory earnestly. I came to speak to you, and am glad 
to find you alone, and forthwitli the baronet goes on 
to relate that his domestic happiness is so imperilled by 
the aggravations of his house-keeper, Mrs. Dolan, that 
he has come to ask Maudie to be his protectress — and 
his wife. 

The unexpected news is almost too much for poor 
Maudie, who sighs and blushes with delightful embar- 
rassment as she says, with a little smirk, “ Dear Greg- 
ory ! how did you find out that I loved you all along?” 
And to this the baronet wisely answers nothing, though 
he sighs as he thinks of Mrs. Eldmere and her beauty, 
even as he presses his new fianc^e^s fat little hand to his 
lips in a lover’s first caress. “ It had to be,” he murmurs to 
himself, “ I couldn’t stand that woman any longer.” And 
thus it was that Maudie wooed and won Sir Gregory at 
last, and des[)ite even her envious sisters Odile and Pau- 
line — who had flown to England on hearing the happy 
news, to do all the mischief they could — became the happy 
bride of a comfortable English baronet, who could actu- 
ally hear, see, and speak like most of us. 


It is a lovely summer night 5 a bright moon sheds its 
lustre upon the landscape, sometimes disappearing be- 
hind a fleecy cloud or snow-clad peak, at others shining 
in dazzling splendor upon the wooded valley beneath, 
and lighting up the tiny villages that lie nestling in the 
heart of the Bernese Oberland, now quiet and hushed 
in sleep. A gay party is assembled on the mountain’s 
brow, and bright talk and merry laughter fills the air, 
for they are waiting with some impatience for the first 
sounds of the distant bugle blast, which was to acquaint 


MOONLIGHT ON THE MOUNTAINS. 


241 


them with the famous echo of this region ; an attraction 
of this, lovely spot which the travellers had come to hear, 
at this hour of the night, thus adding a strange charm to 
the beauty of the scene. 

Somewhat apart from the rest stand two figures, who, 
though alone and in silence, appear to be well content 
to have their solitude thus undisturbed. They, too, 
are listening for the first faint sounds of the distant 
horn. 

Presently the lady moves away from her companion, 
and, going to the edge of the precipice, peers down into 
the darkness beneath. Her light figure stands poised 
there but for a moment, for the gentleman advances, and, 
throwing a protecting arm around her waist, leads her 
back to higher ground. 

^‘My darling, what a risk to run!” he says, tender- 
ly, though reproachfully, gazing at the beautiful face. 
^‘How dare you“? It is well that I am at hand to pro- 
tect you, and I suppose you will now admit my right to 
shield my own from danger.” 

Yes, I suppose I must own you for my lord and mas- 
ter,” she answers, with a happy little laugh ; but it is, 
I assure you, a most wiwilling slavery. However, for all 
that, though these chains are constraining,” touching 
the firm arms still held around her, I do not care yet to 
break them.” 

I would not attempt it if I were you,” he says, dryly. 
Then, My own Elra!” he murmurs passionately, and 
catching her to his heart, he kisses the lovely lips so near 
his own, and reads all the love and tenderness shining 
in her eyes as she answers, softly : 

God grant us happiness, my dearest one!” 


242 


HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 


And then the first faint sounds of the bugle call 
steal softly through the valley, ever growiug louder, 
till it dies in a gentle murmur, as the echo repeats 
the sound of its tones. 





THE END. 









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